


All Hallows' Eve

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Mild Language, Movie Reference, POV First Person, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... Perhaps Will's loathing for all things Halloween related is perfectly justifiable after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Hallows' Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Oh God, where to start...
> 
> \- Narrated by Will. Self-beta'd.  
> \- Cross over with Supernatural. (Yet... Not noted as such in the 'fandoms' section because, well, I don't really want it showing up in the Supernatural category. Why? Because they're probably only in it for a third of the fic and... I just don't.)  
> \- Halloween fic.  
> \- While it's far from my place to tell you what to read or not, if you don't know either Supernatural or the movie Hansel & Gretel, Witch Hunters, you may not... truly... 'appreciate' the (insane) logic behind this fic.  
> \- Don't ask why, given that ultimately the fic is just amusing (hopefully!) fluff, it's so long because, seriously, I don't have an answer for you. (Other, that is, to say that the characters just didn't seem to want to shut up!)  
> \- Yes. I love Halloween. As a small child, instead of wanting to be a teacher or a hairdresser or whatever when I grew up, I wanted to be a witch. (Gee... There's an unasked for insight into my mind for you all...)
> 
> Happy Halloween! May your day be as spooky as you want it to be, and... uh... Please. Enjoy.

=============  
All Hallows' Eve  
by TalithaX  
=============

 

“Don't eat the fucking candy!”

There being just that right amount of annoyance in Jane's voice to tell me that her threat isn't an idle one and that Benji will only live to regret it should he reach for another piece of candy, I tap Ethan on the shoulder and, as he glances back at me, shake my head.

“I...” Giving him a beseeching look, I take a couple of steps back from the door that will take us into both the conference room and Jane and Benji's clutches and, once he's got the hint and joined me, add, “I can't do this.”

That is...

I can.

Of course I can.

If, that is, I wanted to.

And I don't.

I just really, really don't.

“Can't do what?” Ethan queries, to his credit, in a perfectly reasonable tone of voice as he raises his eyebrow and shoots me a bemused look. “Sorry, Will, but you're going to have to be a little more specific.”

“This.” Sighing, I gesture at the conference room and, leaning against the wall, tilt my head up to gaze at the ceiling. “Halloween. Costumes. The party. All of it. I just can't do it.”

I thought today was going to be simple. A veritable walk in the park compared to the nerve-shattering, life-threatening – head fuck – roller-coaster of a mission we'd finally brought to a successful conclusion less than twenty-hours ago. What's more, I had the day all nicely planned out in my mind, too. Once we'd made it back to HQ from the airport we'd finalise our reports before going into our standard debriefing with the Secretary, and that pretty much was going to be that. The mission over and the paperwork filed, we would have then been – literally, not physically – patted on the back and shooed out of the office to get some much needed rest at home. It was a simple, reassuring even, plan. One that had followed exactly along those very same lines many times before.

Nowhere in my calculations, however, did fucking Halloween and a 'your presence is non-negotiable' office party factor in to how I saw my day going. Granted, I should have known something was up when, upon entering the building, I saw that the guards on the main reception were all wearing confederate uniforms and ghastly, ghoulish zombie make-up. And, okay, the Jack-O-Lantern on the desk in front of them should have been a dead give away, but...

To put it perfectly bluntly, I'm a Halloween-free zone. I close myself off from it and, both in general and thanks to an entire lifetime's worth of practice, pretend that it simply doesn't even exist. 

It's just... not for me, and, well, as for pretending that it is and that, why, absolutely, I want to be at the Secretary's stupid party... Let's just say it's beyond my acting abilities and leave it at that. I'm a field agent. Being placed in situations that I don't want to be in comes part and parcel with the job description. In by far the majority of cases I can do it – and do it well – without too much of a problem. Pretend to be interested in procuring a young child that I can personally train to be my very own sex slave? Not a problem. Mouth off about hating America and wanting to bring the country to its knees? Easy. Seduce someone with a face even their own mother would struggle to love? As it's both what I'm paid to do and presumably for the greater good, fine.

Feigning happy-happy-joy-joy at a Halloween party though?

Not on your life.

Hell. I'd rather take Ethan up on his oft repeated offer of learning to climb ridiculously high structures without a harness or, if that wasn't an awful enough thought, I think I'd even prefer to give in to Benji's plaintive requests to sit through a Star Trek movie marathon with him during one of our all too rare days off.

Just...

Anything.

Seriously.

Anything would have to be better than having to participate in anything Halloween related. 

“It...” Sighing softly, Ethan places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Will. Cheer up. It's just a party. I know you've been doing your best to get out of it ever since the Secretary handed over the invitation, but...”

“I hate Halloween,” I interrupt with a half-hearted shrug as, reluctantly lowering my head, I flash Ethan a wan, embarrassed smile. “I know you probably think that I was either joking or repeating myself like an autistic parrot this afternoon, but... It's not a joke, okay...” Trailing off, I shrug again and go back to staring up at the ceiling. “You know how coulrophobia is the fear of clowns, yeah?”

“Uh... No. I can't say that I did,” Ethan replies, giving me a look that can be best described as strange as I make the mistake of quickly glancing across at him. “I did, however, know that triskaidekaphobia is fear of the number thirteen and that... wait for it... koumpounophobia is the fear of buttons.” Pausing, he laughs and, stretching out his fingers, rests his hand flat on my shoulder. “Incidentally, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to share that particular piece of... pointless... information with someone.”

“Just as someone, assuming, no doubt that your life was incomplete without knowing it, once chose to share it with you?” I query, as amused by Ethan's somewhat odd response as I am grateful to him for his, as always, innate ability to simply take things in his stride. He could, and quite frankly I wouldn't blame him given the way I'm currently behaving, tease me mercilessly for my 'I hate Halloween' freak out or, worse, even just wash his hands of me. But, no... Instead of giving up and simply joining Jane and Benji, both of whom are looking as much forward to the party as I'm desperately wanting to get out of it, in the conference room as they get ready, he's not only still by my side but he's also calmly chatting to me as though, really, everything's quite normal and I haven't lost it at all. 

Actually, given that I'm embarrassed enough by my behavior as it is, to say that I'm grateful is nothing short of a complete understatement.

“How ever did you guess?” Ethan responds, smiling at me, if not really quite happily then definitely smugly, as I once again lower my head in order to look over at him.

“But wait, I haven't finished,” I murmur, mirroring Ethan's smile because, simply put, just having him smile at me is always enough to lift my mood. “This... font of useless information, it wouldn't happen to be someone I know, would it?”

“And... again, I say, how ever did you guess?”

“I'm just special that way.”

“Oh. So that's what it is?”

“Mmm... That, or for some reason, when I think of random outbursts of useless information I always end up thinking of one person in particular.”

“Well, it was certainly random, I'll give it that,” Ethan replies with a roll of his eyes as he glances towards the conference room. “But, hey... Benji. Where would we be without him, huh?”

“Far less educated, obviously,” I retort, following Ethan's gaze and, with both a quick shake of my head and a fond smile, laughing. “I thank you though, I really do, for sharing those two words with me and I look forward to the day where I too can share them with some unsuspecting acquaintance.”

“My job, then, is done.” Swivelling back to better face me, Ethan taps his finger against my shoulder and gives me an expectant look. “Now. Getting back to my new word of the day... Coulrophobia. Are you telling me, in your own, unique way, that you're afraid of clowns and the reason you don't like Halloween is because you don't want to risk running into people dressed in clown costumes?”

Although Ethan, again to his credit, asks this with a straight face, and I know – despite the way I'm carrying on – that I'm only dragging this out and making things worse for myself by procrastinating, I still sigh heavily and stare down at my shoes for a few seconds before shrugging and, with no small amount of effort on my part, forcing myself to look up and meet his eyes. “Not clowns, no,” I mutter. “Don't get me wrong, I'm not a huge fan of the creepy looking things and have never found them overly entertaining, but... No. I don't have a phobia about clowns. I just used the term as a sort of reference point.”

“If you don't suffer from coulrophobia, I'm assuming then that there has to be something else you've got a phobia of?” Ethan prompts as he once against squeezes his hand gently around my shoulder. “Come on, Will. You're clearly hiding something from me and... How can I help you if I don't know what it is?”

“It's not help I need,” I reply, pulling a face, “it's a bunker to hide in until Halloween has fucked off for another year.”

“So... It really is Halloween you have a phobia of?”

“Uh... Not exactly.” I don't like Halloween, nor have I... ever... liked Halloween, but in the grand scheme of things it comes a very poor second to what it is I really hate. Unfortunately though they just go in hand in hand.

“Then... If it's not Halloween, what is it?”

Fine. Whatever. He asked for it, and he can have it. “Wiccaphobia,” I murmur as, just as I would have felt safe betting my life on, Ethan looks at me blankly. “I have wiccaphobia...”

“Wiccaphobia,” Ethan repeats as a smirk begins to tug on the corner of this lips. “So... Would that just be the furniture, or do the baskets give you the heebie-jeebies as well?”

Momentarily unsure as to just what the fuck he's going on about here, I stare at Ethan blankly for a moment before shaking my head and issuing forth with the always eloquent, never fails, grunted inquiry of, “Huh?”

“You know,” he beams, “wicker. In order to make sure I never accidentally expose you to your... trigger... I need to know if it's the furniture or the baskets that set you off.”

“You...” Amazed, for the want of a better description, that this is how, good naturedly though it may be, he's decided to translate my deepest, darkest secret, I groan and grace him with a look of complete disbelief. “Seriously? You... seriously... went there?”

Looking, it just has to be said, proud of himself for blowing me away with yet another fine example of how his mind is capable of working, Ethan nods. “I did. I seriously went there.”

“Wicker furniture. You... You're standing there thinking I'm wanting to do whatever I can to get out of a Halloween party because... I've got a phobia about wicker furniture?”

“Or the baskets. Despite the fact I've asked a couple of times now, you still haven't told me what particular form of wicker it is that... offends your delicate sensibilities.”

“I don't have a phobia about wicker!” I exclaim as, it all getting too much for me, I start to laugh. “Keep up the comedy routine though and I may very well begin to develop a phobia for bad, make that, very bad jokes.”

“I made you laugh, didn't I?”

“While you may be hearing laughter, I'm hearing, and feeling, for that matter, borderline hysteria.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you're no fun?” Ethan mutters with a mock pout as, cocking his head to the side and looking me up and down, he shrugs and, leaning forward, plants an incredibly fleeting kiss on my cheek. “No fun, but still cute,” he adds. “Definitely cute.”

Accepting that being called cute, while unexpected and a little on the peculiar side, is far preferable to be called mad, I reply in kind by quickly kissing Ethan's cheek before, for no other reason than I know that I have to and that we can't just stand here bantering all night, murmuring, “Wiccaphobia... It's the fear of witches and or witchcraft...” Trailing off, I straighten myself up and, scowling, fold my arms across my chest. “Although, and believe me when I say this, it's not a fear of witches I possess, it's more of a... hatred... of them. They don't frighten me, and God knows I'm not scared of them, but... You'll no doubt think it's completely crazy of me, but I hate them. I absolutely fucking hate witches and anything to do with them.”

“Witches,” Ethan replies with a clearly feigned degree of dubiousness. “Not... wicker.”

“Not wicker,” I confirm, still scowling because even talking about the horrible things is enough to get stuck in my craw. “Witches. I hate witches.”

“So... surprising you with tickets to Wicked or a midnight screening of The Wizard of Oz wouldn't be a good idea, then?” Ethan queries, his expression award-winningly neutral as he gazes at me.

“Uh... No,” I mutter, all but physically recoiling at the thought. Just... Sitting through either a musical or a movie about green witches? Never. Not while I have breath left in my body. “Not really.”

“And... a boxset of Bewitched for Christmas would probably be out of the question too, I take it.”

“If you ever wanted to have sex ever again, then, yes, it would most definitely be out of the question.”

“Would that just be with you, or with... anyone?”

“Having sex?”

“Mmm...”

“Oh. Anyone. Trust me. If you ever feel the urge to give me a boxset of Bewitched then your days of being sexually active will be both instantly and irrevocably over.”

Nodding, Ethan chokes back laughter and flashes me a weak smile. “Seeing as I think you've made yourself perfectly clear on that point, I hereby solemnly promise to never surprise you with anything witch related.” Pausing, his expression turns serious and he looks me directly in the eye. “All jokes aside though, and, Will, as you know I'd never willingly do anything to offend you, they were... albeit somewhat bad... jokes, but... this phobia you've suddenly confessed to possessing about witches of all things, are you going to explain it to me?”

“I don't know if you really want to...”

“And, yes... I'm sure I want to know,” Ethan interrupts as he finally lifts his hand away from my shoulder only to cup it softly around my jaw. “I can tell, both from the way you're avoiding getting to the point and the way you've been acting ever since learning of the party, that this is all quite serious to you and, again, I really want to help. I do. Only... Not having the full picture, I don't know how, or even where, to start.”

Leaning into Ethan's familiar touch, I close my eyes and brace myself for what's coming. The time for amusement over, I know he won't laugh or belittle my... all-too-numerous issues, but... It's just that I've never told anyone any of this before and I'm finding it really hard to get started. I'm an IMF agent, for Christ's sake, freaking out over having to attend a Halloween party. Yes, I have my reasons, my firmly entrenched and, in some ways, quite logical reasons, but will they be enough to stop Ethan from starting to, well, question my mental state?

“Come on, Will,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine and using his free hand to close it around mine and squeeze it. “Something about the combination of Halloween and witches upsets you and... uh... as it's making me feel helpless, I want, no... make that, need to know what that something is.”

Sighing, I open my eyes and, after giving Ethan's cheek another quick kiss, shift away from him and walk across the corridor to stand by the window. “I suppose in order to be able to offer the best explanation that I can, I need to start with Halloween in general,” I state, gazing through the glass and down into the dimly lit courtyard. “I... To put it frankly, I've never liked Halloween, and the reason I've never liked it is pretty much because of candy.”

“Candy?” Ethan echoes, making no attempt to disguise his surprise as he walks over to join me. “Why would you hate Halloween because of candy? Speaking for myself here, that's what I've always liked best about it. Costumes and parties and the like I can take or leave, but the childhood memories of going trick or treating and coming home with bags full of candy, well... they're good ones.”

“And it's for that reason that I've always disliked Halloween,” I reply, keeping my gaze fixed on the courtyard and the three men dressed as the Ghostbusters who are making their way across it. “Just... You know how most parents tease their children that the bogey monster under their bed will get them if they don't eat their vegetables or whatever? Well, instead of threatening me with made up creatures my parents decided it would be far more... educational... if they went down the cold, hard fact route and chose instead to scare me half to death with tales of how diabetes was rife in our family and how, if I ate candy, I'd end up blind, not to mention I'd probably have my feet amputated as well, and...” Trailing off, I glance at Ethan and smile grimly. “Hey, it worked too. Between the photos in the medical journals I swear they took great delight in showing me and the fact that just about every relative had the damn disease, the thought of eating candy absolutely terrified me for most of my early childhood.”

“So... To you Halloween was just a massive celebration of something you couldn't have?” Ethan offers, shifting closer to me and slinging his arm around my shoulder.

“Couldn't have. Didn't want,” I mutter with a small shrug as I lean against him. “Don't get me wrong. While their methods may have left a bit to be desired, my parents really did mean well as diabetes... is... a big problem in our family, and it's not as though I either craved candy or missed having it. For one, I didn't know what I was missing out on for years and, secondly, when I did finally raise the courage to try some, I discovered to my great relief that I didn't even like it because, not being used to it, I found it to be far too sweet. But... Essentially though, you're right. Because Halloween seemed to be all about trick or treating and candy to me, I didn't see any point to it and never wanted to have anything to do with any of it.”

“Okay... So while I'm not entirely sure if I agree with your parents methods of teaching you the dangers of developing diabetes, I can well and truly see now why it is you don't think all that much of Halloween,” Ethan replies, tightening his arm around my shoulder as, knowing that my tale is going to get worse, logic-wise, before it gets better, I surreptitiously shift even closer to him. “You don't like it because you associate it with childhood stories of candy causing diabetes and, yeah, I get it. What about the... witch-thing though, is that related to Halloween as well?”

“It is, in a way,” I murmur, glancing up at Ethan and, finding him looking at me with a concerned expression on his face, sighing. “Look... What I'm about to tell you is something that I've never told anyone before, and... Uh... I know it sounds far-fetched, if not completely delusional, but I swear to you it's exactly what happened and I just want you to... keep an open mind... while I'm telling it to you.”

“It's that good, huh?”

“Oh. You have no idea.” And he doesn't, either. What I'm about to tell him, he's either going to – most likely reluctantly and with more than a few reservations – believe me, or failing that, it's just going to strike him as so far fetched as to be a figment of my hitherto unknown wild imagination and, as such, be of considerable cause for concern.

“And nor am I going to if you don't get on with it already,” Ethan murmurs with an encouraging smile. “You should know by now that I'm not going to give up and that I'll just hound you until you tell me what I want to know, so...”

“So... Bite the bullet and just get on with it already,” I finish, countering Ethan's smile with a glum one of my own.

“Now we're on the same page!”

“Mmm... Make that... momentarily... on the same page.” Straightening up, I reluctantly shift away from Ethan and lean my back up against the cold glass of the window so that I can face him. “Okay... Here goes nothing.” Shoving my hands in my pockets, I tilt my head back and, with yet another sigh, begin to share my... peculiar... tale with Ethan.

“When I was seven years old two of my cousins came to stay with us for six weeks while their parents were on holiday in Europe. Sebastian was eight, and his older sister, Donna, was eleven. Now, courtesy of not having been brought up on horrific tales of diabetes and going blind from candy consumption, my cousins were obsessed... and I mean obsessed... with having to be able to go trick or treating. They whined and carried on and indulged in the old 'water on stone' technique of repeating their plaintive demands at every given opportunity that, in the end, my parents just gave up and agreed that, 'just this once', we'd all get dressed up and go out trick or treating on Halloween.”

“You must have been thrilled,” Ethan offers sympathetically.

“Quite frankly, they were both annoying me so much by this stage that I hoped they scored enough candy from their endeavours that they immediately lapsed in a diabetic coma and just left me in peace for the remainder of their stay.”

“Charming.”

“You didn't know them. Sebastian, I swear, suffered from undiagnosed ADHD, and Donna was just a sadist that liked to hit me with her Barbie dolls.”

“And again I say... charming.”

“I was perfectly happy being an only child, what more can I say.”

“Oddly enough, I'm kind of getting that picture. Now... Back to the story of your, I suppose, first Halloween.”

“First, and... last,” I mutter, wrinkling my nose. “But, yes... Back to that night. There we were. My delightful cousins looking resplendent as Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo, me looking, I suspect, petulant and unimpressed as Luke Skywalker, and my father, playing the role of chaperone solo because my mother refused to have anything to do with it, looking... like a complete idiot in a Big Bird costume.”

“Uh... Big Bird?”

“Yeah... Big Bird. The big yellow feathered thing from Sesame Street.”

“Oddly enough, not knowing any other... big birds... that was the one I was thinking of,” Ethan murmurs, choking back laughter. “Now... Inquiring minds needing clarification and all that, dare I ask... why... he chose to dress as a big yellow bird?”

“Because my mother told him she'd file for divorce if he wore the warlock costume he first came home from the store with, and then, when he went back, Big Bird was all that was left.”

“Oh.”

“Mmm...”

“If it helps, he wasn't impressed either,” I reply as, completely out of the blue, it strikes me that my only happy memory of the night is that of my father waddling around in his stupid yellow bird costume. “It... It was funny, though. In fact, I don't know what I laughed the hardest at, my father dropping feathers all over the place, or the mortified expressions on my cousins' faces when they realised that they'd have to be seen out in public with him looking like that.”

“The promise of candy trumped their embarrassment though, I take it?”

“Oh yeah. Not even Big Bird could get in the way between my cousins and candy.”

“So... There you all were. All dressed up and on the prowl for candy.”

“Uh-huh. We did the rounds of the neighbourhood, scored more candy than I'd ever laid eyes on before and then, when we were finally on our way back home, my father ran into an old friend, dressed, if you can believe it, as the Count from Sesame Street, and the two of them decided to stand around bemoaning their costumes while all of the kids started gorging on their loot and, in general, just running riot. Now, while by this point I no longer thought I'd end up losing my foot if I had a piece of candy, I still wasn't all that interested in it and, after dumping my bag of sugar on my cousins, I set off for home on my own.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. As moves go, it wasn't my greatest.”

“No?”

“No. I was probably half the way home when a witch... uh... that is, a woman dressed as a witch, of course... materialised out of nowhere and grabbed me.”

“Shit!” Ethan exclaims, his eyes widening in surprise. “She tried to abduct you? God... You must have been terrified.”

“Actually...” Shrugging, I look Ethan in the eye and dredge up a grim, cold smile. “I wasn't scared at all, I was... incensed.”

“Incensed?” His expression telling me more clearly than words ever could that I've successfully managed to add to his sense of surprise, Ethan shakes his head and lets out a low whistle. “As a seven year old, there you were in the throes of being abducted and, instead of being scared, you were... pissed off?”

“Beyond pissed off, if you must know,” I retort as I pull my hands out of my pockets and fold my arms back across my chest. “I mean, yeah, I was shocked but, I don't know, for some reason I wasn't afraid. Incensed, as I already said, and, as she didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before, utterly... repulsed... by the woman, but not scared.”

“What do you mean she didn't look anything you'd ever seen before? A second ago you called her a witch, so I assumed...”

“What? That she had warts on her nose and was wearing a cape and a pointy hat?”

“Well, yeah... Something like that.”

I shake my head. “No cape, no hat and, before you ask, no broomstick either,” I mutter, scowling as the memory presents itself in crystal clear clarity in my mind. “She... Her face. There was something wrong with her skin. It... It was like parchment. Really dry and really cracked parchment that had been covered in that white foundation favoured by geisha and, if that wasn't bad enough, her eyes were black, her teeth and breath rotten, and...” Pausing, I shrug and give Ethan a defensive – 'go on, argue with me, I dare you' – look. “I know it sounds stupid, and you're free to put it down to the panicked thoughts of a young child all you like, but I knew, I just knew instinctively, that she was a witch... Uh... That is, of course, she was... dressed... as a witch.”

“Okay. She was a witch,” Ethan murmurs, mirroring my shrug as he graces me with a no doubt meant to be placating smile. “What did you do, though? You might not have been scared by what was happening, but you were still just a kid and she had to have been bigger than you.”

“You want to know what I did?” I reply, giving Ethan a wry look. “I... went ballistic. First I hit her as hard as I could in the throat with my plastic lightsaber, then I punched her in the nose and, as she was dropping me, kicked her in the crotch. I then, just for good measure, stomped on her foot before turning tail and bolting back to my father. She hissed, literally, and made some weird... crackling... noises, but she didn't come after me and, well, that was just that. Some woman that looked like a witch tried to abduct me, I got away, and... I've both hated all things... witchy... and avoided Halloween ever since.”

“Oh.” Ethan looks at me with an unfamiliar – either 'dazed and confused' or 'you're breaking my brain' – expression on his face as, clearly struggling to get his head around everything I've just, without warning, I might add, dumped on him, he waits for inspiration to strike in respect to how best to reply. While I don't know which particular part of my tale it is he's having the most difficulty accepting, nor am I really sure that I... want... to know either. Seeing as it's the truth though, I don't know how else I could have presented it to him. Maybe I shouldn't have sounded so adamant when I declared that the strange looking woman was – both absolutely and positively – a witch, despite the fact she didn't look like one I'd ever seen on television or in a book before.

Or, maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut and feigned a migraine hours ago.

The truth?

Sometimes, seriously, it's over rated.

Especially, that is, when it renders your usually quite unflappable lover speechless.

“But...” Apparently having finally made his mind up as to which question he'd like to tackle first, Ethan shakes – off some of his shock – his head and tentatively murmurs, “That was just over thirty years ago. How... I mean, I don't doubt you, but... How can you possibly have avoided all things Halloween for over thirty years?”

“Easily,” I reply, closing my hand around Ethan's arm and giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. “While I was still at school I always managed to come down with some sort of mystery virus at the time which meant I couldn't leave the house or, if I thought that excuse was becoming too old hat, I'd pretend to be grounded and just blame my parents for not letting me go to any of the parties my friends were throwing. Then, once I started working I made sure I was either incredibly busy and didn't have the time to pay any attention to the frivolity happening around me or, if I didn't have anything much to do and was just stuck at home, I'd book myself into a hotel for the night and just... hide.”

“Wow.” Ethan, although he's not looking any more firmly convinced of my sanity than he was a second ago, blinks and gives me a weak smile. “So you really have avoided Halloween for over thirty years, then.”

I nod and give him a weak smile of my own. “I have.”

“But...” Frowning, he gives me a funny look. “The fun and games of Cobalt was twenty months ago, yeah?”

Although I'm not sure where he's going with this somewhat abrupt change in topic, I nod again and wait for him to continue.

“Then... As it didn't take me all that long to realise that I wanted to jump your bones, we...”

“Jump my bones?” I interrupt with an amused snort. “And to think there are those who think romance is dead.”

Ethan smirks and raises his eyebrow. “I don't know, you'd have perhaps preferred something along the romance novel lines of... being ensnared by your inner beauty and wanting to make you mine?”

“Mmm... You know something? Not really being one for... flowery, I think I'll stick with the jumping my bones angle.”

“Well, you can't say I didn't try,” Ethan replies, still smirking. “Back to where I'm going with this, though... We've been together for fifteen months, yeah?”

“We have, yeah,” I murmur as the smile that stretches across my lips this time is gloriously genuine. “For reasons I still haven't quite been able to put my finger on, I've been stuck with you for fifteen months know.”

“Some people are just naturally lucky that way.”

“Mmm... That they are. Now... Forgive me for perhaps being dense, but where are you going with all of this?”

“If we've been together for fifteen months then that means we've also been together for a Halloween. So... You know, why didn't you hit me with any of this last year?”

“Because we were deep undercover in North Korea at the time,” I reply, pulling a face as, yet again, I'm reminded of a time I'd really rather just forget. “Remember? Not only is Pyongyang not really known for it's love of candy, but the only ghouls in the place are the uniformed ones pretending to run the country.”

“So, really, it made for a perfect Halloween-Free Zone,” Ethan responds, nodding as everything slots neatly into place and suddenly makes complete sense to him. “Ah... I get it now. You didn't have to say anything at the time because, basically, it never came up. By the time we got back to the States the witches had given way for the Thanksgiving turkeys and... you'd just successfully avoided it for another year. Just... Okay. It all makes better sense to me now.”

“The North Korean mission sucked, and, okay, if I was given a choice I probably wouldn't go quite as... extreme... in terms of what I'd do to get out of Halloween, but... Look, Ethan. I know I'm probably only being silly or, as you've no doubt already considered, suffering from PTSD, but Halloween always brings back unhappy memories and...” Trailing off, I shrug and, sliding my hand down Ethan's arm, entwine our fingers together. “I'm sorry, I really am, but I just don't like it and the thought of having to go to the Secretary's Goddamn stupid party fills me with a sort of dread that I can't even describe...”

Sighing, Ethan squeezes my fingers back and gives me an apologetic look. “You're right in that I do think you're probably suffering from some form of PTSD as a result of almost being abducted by that woman, but... you know as well as I do that we have to put in appearance at the stupid party, that, as he extended the invitation personally, the Secretary himself is expecting us there.”

“But...” Knowing that petulantly stamping my foot and pouting isn't going to achieve anything, I let go of Ethan's hands and, draping my arms over his shoulders, slump against him. “Can't we please just go home?” I whisper in his ear as he wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me back.

“I wish that we could,” he replies, kissing the top of my head, “but, think about it, Will. Even if we decided to play with fire by blowing off the Secretary, what do you think would happen if we went home, huh? The doorbell wouldn't stop ringing from the never ending parade of trick or treaters in search of candy, which, needless to say, we wouldn't have any to give them, and, again, think about it, that, I really think, would have to be worse than just hiding out at the damn party for a couple of hours.”

“But...” I see what he's getting at, I do, but... “Fine. How about just hiding out in an office for a few hours?”

“Or... How about applying a bit of logic to the situation and accepting that if it was any other party on any other night you wouldn't have a problem with it,” Ethan responds somewhat matter-of-factly as he pulls just far enough back from the embrace in order to be able to look me in the eye. “Yes, there'll be stupid costumes, and, okay, there'll probably be more... witches... than there would at any other costume party during the year, but... Again. Think about things logically here. Wearing the stupid costumes will be people you know, there'll be alcohol to help keep your mind off things, by letting the Secretary sight us we'll be safe from being shipped off to Siberia, and... once he's made his, no doubt to him completely hilarious, speech we can slip off home, safe in the knowledge that it'll be just late enough for all the little monsters to be handing over their loot to their parents for safe keeping before being safely tucked in to bed. So...” Pausing, he smiles hopefully and strokes the back of his hand gently down my cheek. “What do you say?”

“Suck it up, princess, and get with the damn program?” I mutter drily as I lean into his touch and throw everything I've got into plastering a determined smile across my lips. Ethan's logic being irrefutable, I know that I just have to – man up – do this and that, in a few hours it'll be all over for another year and I can once again just put it all back behind me. I'm not overly rapt in it, and the pessimist in me says that it'll all get worse before it gets better, but, really, it's not as though I have any other choice. It's either go to the party with Ethan and just hope for the best, or have a complete, childish meltdown and sulk in an office for the rest of the evening, and, while neither appeals all that much, at least the former will allow me to save face. So... Fine.

Let's get this damn show on the road already.

“While that wasn't exactly how I'd been going to put it,” Ethan laughs, kissing the tip of my nose, “it'll do.”

“Just promise you'll stay with me,” I sigh as, lifting my hands, I cup Ethan's cheeks and kiss him on the lips. “While I'll do what I can to stay on my best behaviour, I may need careful... monitoring, you know, just in case I see something that sets me off...”

“You have my word that I'll protect you from all of the nasty witches,” Ethan retorts, stealing another kiss before stepping back and, after linking his elbow around mine, beginning to lead me towards the conference room.

“Actually, it's not me that needs protecting,” I mutter as, well and truly having given up, I get in step with Ethan and give him a no nonsense look. My issues, be they fear, suppressed PTSD or little more than completely irrational, with Halloween aren't a laughing matter, but, at the same time nor are they something I should be held captive by and, if sharing an amusing anecdote is one way of making light of things, then, so be it. “You see, the witch I had the run in when I was seven wasn't my first... experience... with a witch,” I continue as, reaching the conference room, we come to a stop by the door. “When I was four I was out grocery shopping some time around Halloween with my parents and there, in the fruit section, was a woman dressed as a witch. The poor thing had scored the undesirable task of trying to convince children that all they wanted for Halloween was a piece of fresh fruit as opposed to candy and, just as she was being paid to do, she made the mistake of offering me an apple...”

“Which, don't tell me, you took offence at for some reason?” Ethan queries, cutting me off.

“Big offence, if you can believe it,” I confirm with a dry laugh. “Instead of either just taking the apple or politely refusing it, I told her to stay the hell away from children and kicked her in the ankle.”

Laughing, Ethan pulls his arm away from mine and claps me on the shoulder. “Man, you really don't like witches, do you?”

“Apparently not,” I reply, grinning at the sheer insanity of a small child launching an unprovoked attack on a woman dressed as a witch in a grocery store. “It... It was funny, you know... My father though, he was mortified and wanted to punish me by taking my favourite toys away from me for a week. My mother, however, wouldn't have a bar of it and, through tears of laughter, simply declared that I was just... a chip off the old block.”

“So... Hating witches runs in the family, then?”

“Seems that way.” Giving Ethan a grateful – 'thank you for putting up with me' – bump with my hip, I'm about to ask him what he thinks we may be walking in to, costume wise, when the conference room door opens and Benji and Jane, carrying a large black plastic cauldron full of candy between them, materialise in front us.

Benji, as in all honesty I half expected him to be, is dressed as a Star Fleet captain from Star Trek, while Jane, complete with braids, blue gingham dress, sparkly ruby slippers and a decrepit looking plush dog most likely super-glued into the basket she's got slung over her arm, makes for a very surprising Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and I just know my mouth is gaping open in astonishment as I stare at her.

“Whatever it is you're thinking,” she mutters warningly, “be a good boy and keep it to yourself. It was either this, Smurfette, or that quite frankly revolting flesh coloured bikini or underwear or whatever the fuck it was Miley Cyrus wore during that infamous twerking extravaganza at some recent award ceremony. And... No. Just... No. Believe it or not, Dorothy really was the best of a bad, very... bad, lot.”

“Where as I, on the other hand,” Benji pipes up as, beaming, he effectively saves us from having to come up with something suitably bland and... inoffensive... to say to Jane, “couldn't be any happier with my costume. Look! I'm Captain Kirk! Neat, huh?”

“Delusions of grandeur, more like,” Ethan offers, glancing at me and winking. “I don't know, Benji, I'd have had you... more down in Engineering than captaining the Bridge. What do you think, Will? Does he look like Captain material to you?”

“Ha! You're both just jealous that I got to the costume first,” Benji retorts, using his free hand to smooth down his top as, not letting Ethan's teasing get to him, he continues to beam happily. “Hell, we haven't even got to the actual party yet and already this is turning out to be the best Halloween ever!”

“Mmm... And on that note, seeing as this damn candy is heavier than it probably looks, we'd better get going,” Jane mutters, scowling down at the cauldron for a second or two before glancing over her shoulder into the conference room. “Your costumes are on the table. Ethan, I think you'll quite like yours,” she adds with a half smile as she looks first at Ethan and than across to me. “As for you, however, Mr... The Grinch Who Stole Halloween, you just need to both think happy thoughts when you see yours and keep in mind that, in your size, it was either the one we've chosen for you or the lime green mankini made famous by Borat...” Trailing off, she looks me up and down and laughs. “Now, I love you, Will, I really do, but... I don't need to see it. In fact, I don't think anyone needs to see it.”

Shrugging, Ethan affects an innocent, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth expression. “I don't know. Having... seen... it myself, I know for a fact that...”

“I'd actually rather go the blue paint route and dress up as Smurfette before so much as considering donning a mankini,” I finish hurriedly, shaking my head as I shoot Ethan a horrified look. “Just... Don't go there. This whole situation is bad enough without making jokes about mankinis.” 

“Gee... Thanks for the mental images, guys,” Benji complains, screwing his face up. “Come on, Jane. Let's get out of here before I... really... regret having eaten all that candy.”

Grinning, Jane twirls her finger around her braid before blowing both Ethan and I a kiss and, with a swing to her hips, beginning to walk along the corridor with Benji. “See you at the party,” she calls back over her shoulder. “Oh... And despite being the same size, don't even dream of swapping costumes as, I'm warning you, you wouldn't like the consequences.”

“That sounds ominous,” I comment as we both gaze after Benji and Jane until they've disappeared into the elevator. “Knowing Jane though, it wouldn't surprise me if she had the mankini hidden under that ratty looking stuffed dog in her basket.”

“Wouldn't surprise me either,” Ethan agrees as, literally shrugging off Jane's threat with a roll of his shoulders, he starts to walk in to the conference room. “At the risk of sounding, I don't know, either old or clueless here, who's Miley Cyrus?”

“More to the point,” I reply, following him into the room, “what the fuck is... twerking... and why do I feel as though I need to go out of my way to avoid it?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he responds, glancing around and appearing bemused at the sight of the normally pristine conference room looking as though it's suddenly been turned into either a backstage area or a Hollywood prop room. “Christ, what a mess...”

“You're telling me.” While predominantly empty garment racks line the walls, pieces of clothing, shoes, make-up, and other miscellaneous bits and pieces seem to be scattered over just about every available surface and a large mirror leans precariously against the wall by the window. It looks, to put it perfectly bluntly, as though a bomb has gone off in the room and, despite being a little wary as to what she's chosen for me, I'm grateful to Jane for having already safely laid our costumes out on the table for us. “So... Are you ready for this?”

“As ready as I suspect I'll ever be,” Ethan murmurs, moving over to the table and looking down at the first of the two garment bags laid neatly across the end of it.. “Hey!” he adds, both smiling and looking relieved as he taps his finger on the bag. “It's Maverick's flight suit from Top Gun. I have to say, given that I half expected a pot of glitter and instructions on how to make myself look like a Twilight vampire, that I'm actually quite pleased with this.”

“Mmm... That's because the pot of glitter you were fearing probably has my name on it,” I mutter flatly as I sidle up to Ethan and glance down the bag and its reassuring photo of an instantly recognisable flight-suit pinned to the front of it. “So... Now that we know you're the lucky one here, I suppose the time has come to see what... wondrous... costume it is I've scored...”

Nodding, Ethan makes to pick up his bag. “You ready for this?”

“As I'll ever be.”

“In that case,” he murmurs, waiting until I'm standing directly by his side before lifting up the bag containing his user-friendly flight-suit and peering down at the bag that had been hidden under it. “Oh...”

“Oh?” I repeat, shaking my head as, stepping back from the table, I only just control the urge to deliver a perfectly pointless kick at the closest chair. “Just... Oh? That's seriously all you've got to say?” I continue, the agitation and complete and utter annoyance I'm now feeling coming through loud and clear in my – petulant, whiny – voice. “Just... Fuck! Hansel? A fucking fairy tale character? Seriously? As if things didn't fucking suck enough without being faced with the possibly life changing choice of deciding between having to wear either a fucking mankini or fucking lederhosen! I... I just don't fucking believe it, I really don't...”

Pausing to take breath, I notice that Ethan is looking at me with a calm, impassive expression on his face and, like a red rag to a bull, this just sets me off again. “What? What are you fucking looking at me like that for? It's okay for you. You've got a cool costume. What's more, you've got a fucking... adult... costume, and....” Sighing, I narrow my eyes and glare at Ethan as he continues to gaze over at me as though he's never seen anything quite like it before. “Look! I know I'm being irrational and that you probably think I should just get a fucking grip and shut the fuck up, but... Damn it! You have no idea how much all of this is just pissing me off!”

“Oh, trust me, I'm getting it loud and clear,” Ethan murmurs with a smug – if not supremely unbothered – smile. “And, if you must know, what I was actually thinking was whether you're even aware of the fact that over the last few hours you've managed to fit in at least a fortnight's worth of swearing.”

“Fuck. You.” I know I'm swearing like the proverbial trooper and that, at best, I'm behaving like a spoiled brat who just can't believe he hasn't managed to get his own way, but, and I know it's a complete cop out, I just can't help it. Reluctantly accepting that I was going to have to front the Halloween party was bad enough without the stupid damn costume adding insult to already smarting injury. I don't care that it's 'all meant in good fun', and, while I'm at it, nor do I care that if I could just calm down enough to pull my head out of my ass for a second I'd probably realise it's not something that's even worth getting worked up over, as...

It's too late.

I'm worked up.

I'm worked up big time.

And...

Ethan's still fucking smirking at me which, oddly enough, isn't exactly helping my overly volatile mood any.

“If you... dare... say 'case in point',” I grind out, shooting him a look that's as much a warning as it is a threat, “you're not, and believe it or not I'm actually still struggling to remain reasonable here, going to like how I react.”

“I wasn't going to say that at all,” Ethan replies, widening his eyes and gracing me with his best 'who me?' expression.

“No?”

“No.”

“So... You weren't thinking of saying... anything?”

“I didn't say that, now, did I?”

“Well. Go on, then. Hit me with it.”

“What I was actually thinking of saying was... Promises, promises...”

“Huh?”

“Think about it, dumb ass.” Laughing, Ethan rolls his eyes and, as he turns his attention back to the – offending – garment bag draped over the table, shakes his head. “You said... fuck you, remember? And I was going to say...”

The penny dropping heavily into place, I laugh as some of the tension finally leaves my shoulders and walk over to join Ethan at the table. “Promises, promises,” I finish, giving him yet another grateful smile as I mime a smack to the side of my head to highlight my obvious stupidity. “Yeah, yeah... Better late than never, I get it now.”

“And?” Ethan prompts, giving me a hopeful look.

“If I survive the party in one piece, I'd say the odds were most definitely in your favour,” I reply with another laugh as I reach out my hand and give Ethan's arm a quick squeeze. “If, however, you're about to confess to having some sort of a... thing... for lederhosen, then, I'm telling you now, you're going to be out of luck as... while it may well work for you, I... know... it's not going to work for me.”

“Well, damn, there goes that idea,” Ethan replies facetiously as, taking matters into his own hands, he lifts up the garment bag labelled 'Hansel' and frowns. “Actually, while I'll admit to being far from an expert on lederhosen,” he continues, holding the bag out towards me, “I nevertheless could have sworn that... leather breeches... shouldn't be quite this heavy.”

Taking the bag from Ethan and feeling for myself just how heavy the costume inside of it really is, I look at him and, seeing no reason to come up with a more original expression, frown. “Maybe it's labelled incorrectly?”

“Mmm...” He gives me a coy look and casually takes a step back. “Maybe it's a... Big Bird costume...”

“Oh. Ha ha. Very amusing.” Groaning at his... dire... attempt at humour, I aim a half-hearted smack at Ethan and drape the bag back down on the table. “Bare knees or yellow tights... What a choice,” I mutter, reaching for the zip. “I suppose the only way to solve this mystery once and for all is to open it up and find out.”

“With intelligence and logic like that, I can why you made such a great analyst,” Ethan murmurs, hip and shouldering me out of the way as he makes a grab for the bag. “Seeing as you're already nearing the end of your tether, perhaps you'd better take a seat before the shock of whatever it is that's hiding in here ends up knocking you off your feet.”

“You underestimate my coping abilities,” I retort, using Ethan's own hip and shoulder move to stake my claim on the garment bag and, just for good measure, pulling it a little further along the tabletop to get it out of his reach. “Leather or feathers. Just... Bring it on.” 

“What will be, will be?”

“Exactly.”

There being nothing more than needs to be said, I unzip the bag and, after both sharing a surprised look with Ethan and muttering, “What the fuck?”, under my breath, begin to pull out the many pieces that make up the costume. While the black trousers are normal enough, the once white shirt – looks as though it's been used to rub down a horse – is now more of a beige, tea colour, and I shudder to think how many animals had to give up their hide for the rest of it. The vest is made of brown leather, the odd looking, knee length coat is made of – distressed – black leather, and, if that wasn't enough to keep your average leather fetishist happy, even the fingerless, elbow length gloves are made of a fine black leather. An ammo belt, complete with fairly realistic looking shotgun bullets, along with both some sort of weird, steam-punk looking wrist band that appears, going on its size, as though it's meant to be worn over the coat, and a black leather thigh holster complete the strange as hell outfit. To say I've never seen anything like it before is an understatement and, it just really not being my day at all, I don't know whether to laugh or cry at the sight of it. 

Sure, it's better than lederhosen, but...

Just what the fuck is it meant to be?

“Maybe I've always been exposed to mundane, boring versions of the old fairytales,” I murmur, taking a step back from the table in order to get a better view of the costume now that it's all been laid out, “but, I don't know, fairytale or not, doesn't this strike you as... one hell of an outfit for some kid to pull on just to go for an afternoon stroll through a forest?”

“I think it's from a movie,” Ethan replies, picking up the wrist band and running his finger around the raised circle of dirty brass on the top of it. “Uh... Don't quote me on it, but I think I saw it was part of the in-flight entertainment on some flight I was on earlier in the year.”

“A movie?” I snort, giving Ethan a disbelieving look as I take the wrist band from him and peer down at it. “Like what? Hansel Hits Adolescence And Decides To Investigate The Leather Scene?”

“Gretel was there too,” he responds, frowning in concentration. “Hansel And Gretel, Wi... Uh!” Abruptly falling silent, Ethan shakes his head and flashes me a far too bright smile. “Again, don't quote me on it, but I think it was called something like... Hansel And Gretel, All Grown Up.”

“All Grown Up?” I repeat as, and just all me suspicious here, I can't help but think Ethan's hiding something from me. “Wow. Talk about an... inspiring title. Should I be keeping an eye out for it in next year's Oscar nominations?”

“How the hell would I know? I didn't watch the damn thing and only saw it mentioned in the in-flight mag,” Ethan mutters, dare I say, a little defensively as, clearly looking for a way to change the subject, he glances around the room before, with a look of obvious relief, crouching down and pulling a pair of dark brown suede boots out from under the table. “Here. I think I've just found the last piece to your costume.”

“My... Hansel, All Grown Up costume?” I mutter, taking the boots from Ethan as he holds them up for me to take and, not knowing what else to do with them, dumping them down on the table. “Hallelujah. Now both my crappy outfit and... my life... just happens to be complete.” 

“Anything to make you happy, my love,” Ethan retorts just a touch sarcastically as, no doubt having had enough of my pissy mood for the time being, he both shrugs and sighs heavily. “Look... It's a whack costume, I get it, but, seeing as even you've got to admit that it could be far worse, how about we just get dressed and go and put in our token appearance at the party before finally being able to get the hell out of here?”

Nodding, I shrug out of my suit jacket and hang it neatly over the back of the nearest chair. “You're right, of course,” I respond, flashing Ethan yet another weak, sheepish smile as I reach for my tie. “The costume is a vast improvement on what it could have been and... while I'm fairly confident I don't ever want to see the movie it was sourced from, you're right, again, in that we just need to get things moving. So... In order to be able to share a toast to the fun and games that is Halloween, let's just get dressed and get out of here.”

“Just... Cheer up and think happy thoughts, Will,” he replies, reaching out and placing his hand on my shoulder for a fleeting second before busying himself with unzipping his bag and pulling out the flight-suit. “It'll be all over before you know it.”

Although it would be a complete lie to say that I share Ethan's blithe optimism, I choose against sharing this with him and simply concentrate on getting changed. There being so many more components to my costume than there is to his though, Ethan's all zippered up in his and ready to go while I'm still fumbling over doing up the buckles on the vest and, needless to say, this just adds to my ever increasing sense of annoyance. “You might think that I'm stalling for time here, but I'm not. This... I'm telling you. You wouldn't want to get in... or out of... all of this in a hurry,” I grumble, looking over at Ethan and, for what feels like the first time since I stepped foot in HQ all those hours ago, suddenly smiling both naturally and appreciatively at the fine sight he makes. “Hey! Looking good, Maverick.”

“Well, it's hard to go wrong with a flight-suit,” he responds modestly as, without bothering to so much as glance at his reflection in the mirror, he walks over and, gentle smacking my hands away, takes over buckling up my vest. “Here. Let me.”

“Please. Be my guest.” Only too happy to avail myself to the services of my own personal dresser, I hold my arms out expectantly once he's finished with the vest and, getting the hint, just as I knew he would, he obligingly moves on to helping me into the gloves. The gloves, as they lace up the arm, are even more fiddly than the buckles on the vest were and the swearing that slips past Ethan's lips as he fusses over getting them done up perfectly is almost enough to make my recent attempts at turning the air blue seem positively tame in comparison.

“You're right in that you're not going to get out of this in a hurry,” he mutters, shooting the gloves an unimpressed look as he picks the coat up and moves around behind me in order to be able to help me into it. “In fact, I'm already thinking that we'd better be... careful... with our drinking or you may well end up having to sleep in it.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” I murmur, making myself comfortable in the coat as Ethan smooths it over my shoulders. “I mean, there's always scissors...”

“You know, I like the way your mind operates!” Laughing, Ethan shifts back in front of me and, casting a critical eye over my outfit, picks up both the ammo belt and the wrist band but, after both a shrug and a moment's hesitation, leaves the thigh holster on the table. “Here. Once these are on I think you're good to go.”

“Where? Out for a stroll through the woods?”

“Something like that.”

“I still think this is a...”

“Stupid costume. Yeah, yeah. Having heard it already, I get it,” Ethan finishes as, having got both the ammo belt around my waist and the band around my wrist, he steps back and – very – slowly looks me over. “Now, okay... While it might be a... stupid... costume,” he adds with a whistle, “what it also happens to be, and you've got to believe me here, is a... hot... costume. Seriously, Will, you... You look fucking amazing.”

While I don't, not for so much as a second, believe him, both hearing it and seeing the look of appreciation on his face pleases me and, mentally crossing my fingers that I'm over all of my petulant tantrums for the time being, flash him a flirtatious smile. “If you're thinking praise is the right way... into my pants,” I state, resting my hands on my hips and striking a bit of a pose, “I'm here to tell you now that you're definitely on the right track.”

“In other words, so long as I keep up the sweet talk and have access to a pair of scissors, I might get lucky tonight after all?” Ethan retorts, leering at me as, cocking his head to the side, he continues, to look me over.

“Oh... I think it's pretty much guaranteed,” I reply, meeting his gaze and giving him a leer of my own. “Praise me, beg, borrow, or steal a pair of scissors if you have to, and... protect me from passing witches, and, trust me, I'm all yours...”

“In that case, with a promise like that in my future, it would be a brave witch to get in my way,” Ethan laughs as, with a sudden frown, he shakes his head and walks over to me. “I don't know why, but for some reason I just can't shake the feeling that something seems to be missing,” he murmurs, running his fingers along the front of my coat. “Not that thigh holster thing, more... a weapon of some description.”

“A weapon?” I repeat, curious as to why exactly he thinks the costume needs something more added to it, but, wanting to give playing nice a red hot go, willing enough to go along with whatever it is he wants. “Like what? A shotgun to go with the ammo belt?”

“Shotgun, dagger, just... something.” Pausing, he trails his finger along belt before, with a shrug, stepping back and glancing towards the door. “It doesn't matter, of course, but it's a pity you don't have that antique pistol of yours here because, just call me a frustrated costume designer, I can't help but think it would set the whole outfit off perfectly.”

“Actually, it... is... here,” I reply, smiling at the look of surprise on Ethan's face as he immediately turns back to face me. “Hey! Don't look at me like that. I brought it in a couple of weeks ago because James from the armoury wanted to see it.”

“And... You just... left... it with him?”

“No. When he, like all of those who have tried before him, realised that he couldn't fix the thing and washed his hands of it, I decided that I couldn't be bothered taking it home and just put it in my locker down in the gym.” The pistol, which has allegedly been in my family since it was first made way back in the seventeenth century, while certainly attractive with both its polished wood and elaborately engraved silver handle, is next to useless as far as I've always been concerned and it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say I wouldn't care if I never happened to see it again. I suspect, given it's age, exquisite detail, and the fact no one has ever been able to find reference to another one like it, that it would most likely be worth a fairly reasonable amount of money, but, to me it's always just been old and extremely pointless. The firing mechanism is so badly seized that, just like James, who happens to be IMF's premier firearms expert, wasn't able to, no one has ever been able to fix it and because of this and because it won't fire, I've never been able to see much point in keeping it around.

That, and I'm not much of a fan of the creepy skeletons and pentagrams scattered amongst the engraving. They must have meant something to the original owner, but to me they're just macabre and I simply don't like them. Ethan, however, is right in that, yes, the pistol would suit the costume and, seeing no reason not to give it a public outing, I start to walk towards the door. Passing Ethan, I link my elbow around his and together we leave the conference room and walk out into the corridor.

“At the risk of adding to your already quite big enough head,” I comment as we start towards the elevator that will take us down to the basement and the gym, “you're, as always, right, and as I can see how the pistol will fit in with the rest of the costume, I think we'd better take a detour past my locker before heading to the party, don't you...”

“How... curiously... obliging of you,” Ethan responds, hitting the elevator call button. “Don't tell me you've decided to finally give up and to just go with the flow?”

“That, or all the leather fumes coming off my costume are already getting to me and having an oddly calming, sedative effect.”

“Well, whatever it is, I'll take it.”

“Uh...” Pulling my arm free of Ethan's, I take his hand between both mine and, despite barely being able to feel it through the leather of my gloves, give it a quick, tight squeeze. “While I can't promise that it's all behind me or that I'll be able to keep it together for the rest of the night, I... I apologise for the way I've been behaving. I know it hasn't been becoming of me and that, yeah, I do actually know I'm old enough to know better and that I shouldn't let it get to me, but...”

“It's okay, Will, you don't have to apologise,” Ethan states, cutting me off as the elevator reaches our floor and the doors glide silently open. “Halloween, or so it seems, appears to be your... Kryptonite... but, let's face it, seeing as you're otherwise so... entirely agreeable... for the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days of the year, I'm prepared to cut you some slack. So... Smile vacantly, pretend this is nothing more than a costume party, and... it'll be over before you know it.”

Releasing Ethan's hand, I step into the elevator and wait for him to join me before hitting the button for the basement and leaning against the back wall. “You're too good to me.”

“Nah... I'm just good enough,” Ethan counters with a smile as he joins me in leaning against the wall. “Face it, Will. We're stuck with each other.”

“Face it? More like I'm counting on it.”

“Then, as that makes two of us, that's what I was hoping you'd say.”

Choosing to simply... smile a response... as opposed to searching for the words needed to convey to Ethan just how much he means to me, I once again take his hand in mine and we continue our descent to the basement in comfortable silence. Reaching it, we step out through the doors and, still holding hands, walk the short distance along the corridor to the gym. Focussed solely on making a beeline for my locker and retrieving the pistol, I'm subsequently nonplussed to discover upon entering the locker room that we don't – as expected – have the place to ourselves and that there are three men already hovering around the bank of lockers. Three men who I've never seen before and, just call me psychic here, don't exactly look like IMF material. One, going on the beige trench coat he's wearing over a tired looking black suit, could easily be bland enough to be CIA, but the other two, in their scruffy outfits of jeans, shirts and casual jackets, all of which look as though they could do with a damn good clean, well, they don't even look like they could pass as undercover policemen in a ghetto somewhere and it goes without saying that I have no idea what it is they're doing lurking around outside our gym.

“He is here,” the possible CIA agent intones in a flat, quiet voice that immediately causes the other two men to spin around and stare at us as, not yet sensing a threat and not knowing how to react, both Ethan and I stand flatfooted just inside the doorway.

“Oh! You've got to be fucking kidding me,” the shorter of the scruffy looking men exclaims with a groan as, clearly feeling completely at home in the locker room and feeling even less threatened than Ethan and I am, he marches up to me and pokes me in the chest. “Seriously? Of all the costumes in the entire universe you just had to go and choose this one?” he continues, giving me a look of disbelief as, just for good measure, he gives my chest another poke. “Couldn't you have, I don't know, went with... Goose, or even, and here's a whacky idea for you, done something original and gone as... Hawkeye, instead of believing your own publicity and...”

“Excuse me?” I interrupt as I smack the man's overly-familiar hand away and, drawing myself up to my full height, fold my arms defensively across my chest. “Just... Who are you, and perhaps even more to the point, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The witch hunter costume,” the man snorts as, obviously not knowing when to quit, he steps up close and grabs the collar of my coat. “Couldn't you have been more... subtle?”

“Witch hunter?” The man – and his what may or may not be a death wish – momentarily striking me as the least of my immediate concerns, I crane my neck back and shoot Ethan a narrow-eyed glare. “Care to explain?”

“Uh... Not really,” Ethan murmurs, choosing to keep his gaze locked on our odd collection of three strangers as opposed to looking me in the eye. “Look. It's just a costume.”

“Just a costume, huh? Then why did... Scruffy... here call it a... witch... hunter... costume?” I grind out as, ignoring the man's grunted complaint at the name I just used for him, I continue to glare at Ethan. “That movie you claim to know nothing about wasn't... Hansel and Gretel, All Grown Up, at all, was it?”

“All Grown Up?” Scruffy repeats with yet another snort as he glances over his shoulder at the taller version of himself and gives him what looks to be dangerously close to a 'save me from these idiots' look. “What are you talking about? The stupid costume you're wearing is from the movie Hansel and Gretel, Witch Hunters.”

Just...

Of course it was.

Of course there's a fucking movie by that title and, oh, the irony it burns, of course I'd be wearing a fucking costume from it.

“You knew this,” I state in a deceptively calm tone of voice as Ethan, looking more uncomfortable by the second, reluctantly turns to face me. “You knew, despite what I'd only just told you about my feelings towards witches, that this... fucking... costume was from a movie about... fucking... witch hunters? I...” Trailing off, I shake my head. “Were you ever even going to tell me?”

“Uh... I'd hoped not to,” Ethan replies with a sheepish, apologetic smile. “I know I probably should have said something when I saw it, but I... I just thought it might have been the last straw, you know?”

“So you just thought you'd keep that little snippet of rather... relevant... information to yourself? I... I don't believe...”

“Enough!” Scruffy declares, cutting me off mid-whine as he releases his hold on my collar in order to go back to jabbing his finger into my chest. “Look here, Heckle and Jeckle, you need to put your domestic issues aside as we've...”

“Excuse me?” Both Ethan and his little white lie to protect me from myself forgotten about, I turn back to face Scruffy and give him a cool, appraising look. Yes, he's bigger than I am, and, no, I don't know if he's armed or what he's capable of, but none of that is going to stop me from having his ass on the floor if he doesn't pull his head in and quit the display of pushy attitude. 

“Er... Dean? You might want to remember where we are and who it is you're talking to,” the other man comments as, his gaze darting from Ethan to me and back again, he holds his hands up in a placating gesture and takes a hesitant step forward. “These aren't... civilians... you're dealing with, they're... IMF agents.”

“They could be... short versions... of the Hulk and the Terminator for all I care, as...” 

“Okay. That's it. I've had enough of this,” I mutter, talking over the top of Dean as, moving quickly enough to take him by surprise, I shove him away from me before spinning him around, twisting his arm behind his back and, with a swift kick to the back of his knees, sending him sprawling down on to the floor. “Now... You were saying?”

“Huh? What the fuck?” Unable to do little more than put up a token, futile struggle as I'm still holding his twisted arm behind his back, Dean swears under his breath for a few seconds before falling still and gazing up at his companions. “Uh... How about a little help here, guys?”

“And there I was thinking you were doing such a great job on your own,” Scruffy The Taller comments, shrugging. “I hate to say it, Dean, but I did warn you and you brought it all on yourself. So...” Trailing off, he looks over at me and, with another shrug, gives an unbothered smile. “As he deserves it, keep him down there for as long as you like,” he adds, giving Dean a 'hey, you've got no one to blame for your predicament other than yourself' look as, wanting to give the impression of not being any form of threat, he steps back closer to the oddly silent and vacant looking CIA agent clone. “Oh! I'm Sam Winchester, by the way, and the idiot at your feet is my brother, Dean.”

“And, what about Mr Silent over there, who's he?” Ethan queries, tilting his head towards the other man. “Not, mind you, that it's going to make any great difference as you've got approximately one minute to explain just what the hell it is you're doing down here before I raise the alarm and you get to see first hand just how little IMF happens to think of intruders.”

“That's Castiel,” Dean mutters, giving me an evil – 'if only looks could kill' – look over his shoulder as, really wanting to press home my advantage, I twist his arm just that little bit tighter. “He's an angel.”

Maybe I've already reached the point of no return acceptance-wise, but for some reason Dean's declaration that the possibly comatose man in the beige trench coat is an angel just doesn't surprise me at all. In fact, seeing how fabulously everything else is going to today, it's... just about par for the freaking course.

An angel.

Of course he is.

“An angel, huh?” I mutter, slowly looking... said... angel over before turning to Ethan and adding, “Who'd have thought all those millions of angels on top of all those millions of Christmas tree over the decades would have got is so horribly wrong.”

“Indeed,” Ethan agrees. “I don't know though, some guy in a trench coat perched on top of the tree just doesn't really pack the same punch as the...”

“Hilarious. Just... Anything to save me from the damn comedy routine,” Dean states with an exasperated sigh as he uses his free arm to gesture across at the so-called angel. “Hey, Cas. Now might be a good time to call on your party trick.”

“My... party trick?” the... angel... queries, frowning. “I do not have a... party trick... that I am aware of.”

“Your wings, mental genius, show Heckle and Jeckle here your damn wings!”

“My wings?” His frown intensifying, Castiel glances at Sam as though he hopes he's somehow able to help him. “My wings, they are not a... party trick.”

“And nor is being on my knees while Goddamn Hansel here tries to twist my arm off!”

“Are you okay down there, Dean?” I interject, affecting a blatantly feigned expression of concern as I crouch down next to him. “Is the pain perhaps making you a little... delirious?” 

“Fuck you, Witch Hunter,” he grinds out as, with a bit more desperation this time, he once again gestures at Castiel. “Cas! Wings. Now!”

“As I have already said, my wings, they are not...”

“Less yapping, more flapping!”

“Very well.” Looking far from impressed at Dean's order, Castiel moves to the back by the wall, stands up straight, looks directly in front of him, and...

Fuck. Me.

Wings.

He has honest to goodness, albeit in silhouette as opposed to corporeal, wings.

Make that... Large, breathtaking, and completely with ultra-realistic sound effects, wings.

I...

I don't even know where to look, let alone what to say.

“Impressive,” Ethan murmurs, in a dull, possibly even awestruck tone of voice. “I'm not saying I want one on top of the tree at Christmas, but... Definitely impressive.”

“I... I think I need to sit down...” Letting go of Dean's arm, I ignore his muttered statement of, “About fucking time,” and, stepping past him, take a seat down on the wooden bench that runs between the banks of lockers. Digging my elbows into my knees, I lean forward and rub my hands over my face. “So... Fine. You're the Winchester brothers and you've got your very own... pet... angel. That... That's just wonderful, it really is, but...”

“It doesn't explain what you're doing in our locker room,” Ethan finishes as, clearly feeling as taken aback by events as I am, he joins me on the bench and, not caring one iota about our audience, drapes his arm around my shoulder. “So... You win. If you wanted our attention, you've got it.”

His equilibrium having been clearly restored by being back on his feet, Dean swaggers over and casually leans against the locker next to mine. “No offence, Maverick, but it's... Hansel... we need,” he states, giving me a smug, triumphant smile as I wearily lift my head to look over at him.

“My name is William,” I mutter, “not Hansel, or Heckle, or, for that matter, even Jeckle, and unless you want your next run in with me to end with a hospital stint, you'll fucking well remember it!”

“And you would be?” Sam interjects, shooting a warning look at his brother before turning his attention to Ethan and smiling encouragingly.

“Ethan,” he replies, keeping one eye on Castiel as, his wings having been returned to just wherever the hell it was they came from, he moves closer. “Ethan Hunt.”

“Okay. Now that we all know each other's names, it's probably time to explain just what it is we're dong here,” Sam responds. “I know we all got off on the wrong footing, just as I know that what I'm about to say is probably going to strike you as... impossible, if not simply insane, but...”

“Just try us,” I interrupt, gesturing airily at Sam to just get to the damn point already. “You have... an angel... and you somehow managed to break into the basement of one of the world's most secure buildings without raising the alarm, so, whatever it is you're wanting to say, just get on and say it. You've... caught our attention, so make the most of it.”

“We're here because, as-freaking-always, we've got the save the world from yet another Big Bad,” Dean states, taking over explanation duties from Sam and scoring himself a dirty look in the process. “Only this time, to my great annoyance, if not, now that I've actually seen you, disbelief, we need your help.”

“Mine?” Again with just calling me psychic, but for some reason I just know that I'm not going to like whatever it is that's coming. “Why me?”

“Because you are the Witch Hunter,” Castiel intones in that curiously monotone voice of his as he gives me the sort of look that tells me that, really, I just should have known that already.

“I am... not... a witch hunter,” I reply with as much patience as I can muster. “This...” I pick up a handful of the coat. “This is just a costume, yeah? A costume from a movie that, I hasten to add, was chosen... for me, not... by me. I... I'm no more of a a witch hunter than Ethan is a fighter pilot and, while I'm at it, witches...? News flash for you here, people. They... don't... exist.”

“Hate to break it to you, but...” Castiel's hand on his arm silencing him, Dean shrugs and, with a small bow, adds, “If you think you can do any better, go for it. The floor's all yours.”

“I do not require the... floor, simply for those who are listening to possess an open mind.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that,” Dean mutters, giving me a pointed look. “Again though, as time is ticking away here, go for it. Wow them with your... Witches are real, speech.”

“I do not need to, as you say, even though I do not exactly know what it is you mean by the word, wow... them,” Castiel replies as his 'go to' frown of confusion once again settles across his face. “I simply need William to accept that which he already knows to be the truth.”

“Huh? Don't bring me into it,” I retort, sitting up a little straighter and sharing a look of long sufferance with Ethan. “I know you all seem fixated on this damn costume, but I'm here to tell you now that I don't believe in witches, and the reason I don't believe in them is because they...”

“One tried to abduct you when you were seven, did she not?” Castiel interrupts. “You knew then what she truly was, just as you knew instinctively how to both protect yourself and escape from her clutches.”

“How...” Seriously, can this get any stranger? “How do you know about that?” I demand, shrugging off Ethan's arm from around my shoulder and jumping to my feet. “Don't tell me, let me guess. You were somewhere listening in the corridor while I was telling...”

“I know because we were monitoring you at the time.”

“We? Monitoring? What are you...”

“We needed to know if... you were the one.”

“The... One?”

“If you were this generation's Witch Hunter.”

Of course. Silly me. I don't know what made me ask such a stupid question.

“Look. I'm not a fucking witch hunter, and... witches... don't...”

“They do. Just as you know that they do. The witch who tried to abduct you, you could see through her and knew what she was, did you not?”

“I...”

“She was never just a woman to you.”

“Uh...”

“She was always a witch.”

“You did sound pretty adamant that she was a... witch... when you were telling me about her,” Ethan interjects with a shrug. “I'm not saying I'm buying what Castiel is saying, but you definitely sounded convinced that the woman was a witch.”

“I...” Rubbing my temples, I ignore the self-satisfied look Dean is giving me and sink down on to the end of the bench. I don't want to even think it, let alone confess it out loud, but... Albeit in a completely illogical way, it makes a peculiar degree of... sense... to me. Whenever I think back to that night when I was seven, it's always in terms of narrowly avoiding being abducted by a witch. Not a woman, or a woman dressed as a witch, but a... witch. Don't ask me why or how, but I've always known that's what she was and that, yes, the reason I got away so easily from her was because it was simply... instinctive. I hated her on sight, but she didn't scare me and nor, really, did she bother me all that much.

It was just... One of those things.

Something to be avoided, yet... not entirely out of the ordinary.

“Fine.” If I had a white flag I'd wave it. “Whatever. You win. Witches are real and, as Angel-Cam caught on their monitors all those years ago, one nearly abducted me when I was seven. But... What's the got to do with anything, huh?”

“You are this generation's Witch Hunter,” Castiel repeats, any relief he's feeling at having broken through my defences being kept well hidden, “and we are here because we require your assistance.”

Of course they are. As a truly alarming sign of just how completely and utterly I've given up here, the fact than an... angel... and his posse of scruffy humans needs my assistance doesn't even surprise me.

“Let me guess,” I mutter, “you want me to kill a witch.”

I mean, let's face it, what else would they want from a... witch hunter?

“Not just any witch,” Sam replies, crouching down in front me. “A Grand Witch who also specialises in the art of Necromancy.” 

“Necromancy? As in...”

“Raising the dead, of course. What did you think it meant?” Dean interjects, snorting. “So much for thinking you IMF guys were meant to be smart.”

“I was smart enough to get you down at my feet.”

“Yeah, well, I'd like to see you try to do it again.”

“Oh. I wouldn't just try.”

“And he wouldn't either, Dean, so pull your head in for a moment and just let me finish explaining the lay of the land to him,” Sam snaps, glaring over his shoulder at his brother. “Just... Please excuse my brother, he's...”

“An idiot,” I finish, looking over at Dean and, as he glowers at me, flashing him a sweet smile. “But, as I gather having an idiot for a brother is the least of your current concerns, what more can you tell us about this... Grand Witch who dabbles in... raising the dead?”

It sounds impossible, a figment of an overly active imagination but, don't ask me why, I'm buying it. I don't want to, but I am. A witch tried to grab me when I was seven, I currently have an angel standing in front of me, so... Why shouldn't there be a Grand Witch out there somewhere who doubles as a Necromancer? 

“Her name is Agnes,” Castiel states, calmly taking over the role of story teller from Sam, “ and, on All Hallows' Eve three hundred years ago, she was burnt at the stake under the light of a Blood Moon on land not all that far from here.”

“So... Uh... She's dead already?” I query as, knowing that my question will no doubt prove to be a dumb one, I make a very deliberate point of not looking at Dean. “But I thought...”

“Although she is not currently amongst the living,” Castiel replies, not looking at all fazed by the obviousness of the question, “she will, within the hour, rise from the ground and seek three hundred years worth of revenge on the citizens of first Washington and then the rest of the country for having kept her trapped for so long.”

“Ah...” Having got away with it once, I see no reason why I shouldn't travel blithely down the obvious path again and, with a shrug, murmur, “How... exactly... is she going to do this?”

“Tonight marks the first Blood Moon to fall on the anniversary of her passing and, as such, all of the signs have aligned to make her return to the land of the living possible,” Castiel explains. “At the exact time of her passing she will rise from the ground and, unless we stop her, will embark on a trail of destruction that will be hard to imagine. As a Necromancer she will be able to raise as many dead as she feels she requires to make an army and, as I am sure you will agree, this must not be allowed to happen.”

“And... you want me, this generation's... uh... Brandt the Witch Slayer, to take her out before she can raise her army?” Again. Why not? I'm so far... gone... in my blasé acceptance now that the idea of waiting for a dead witch to rise from the ground before having to kill her again makes close to perfectly rational sense to me. “Great. Count me in. Only... At the risk of putting a dampener on this... fabulous... way to spend an evening, how exactly am I supposed to do this? I mean, I don't want to rain on your parade here or anything, but I suspect there's something of a difference between kicking a witch in the crotch when I was seven and... uh... taking out a Grand Witch, so...”

“With that pistol of yours, of course,” Dean mutters, reaching out and tapping his finger against my locker. “You don't think it was just a happy coincidence that we were waiting down here for you, do you?”

“My pistol?” And... Well I never. Just when I honestly thought things couldn't get any stranger. “I've got some bad news for you, guys,” I add, standing up and, with a shove to Dean to get him out the way, unlocking the locker and pulling out the pistol. “If this is the pistol you're referring to, it's nothing more than a display piece and isn't capable of shooting anything.”

“What?” His expression falling, Dean snatches the pistol out of my hand and waves it angrily at Castiel. “Cas? What's he talking about? I thought you said that once we had the Witch Hunter and this pistol that...”

“The pistol will work,” Castiel states, taking the pistol from Dean and, as Ethan gets up from the bench and walks over to join us, holding it out towards me. “William?”

Taking the pistol from Castiel solely because it's what he's expecting me to do, I look him in the eye and shrug. “Sorry, but if your... plan... centres around this thing, you're out of luck as not even gun experts have been able to get it to work.”

“That would be because they do not possess the correct blood line.”

“Blood line?”

“This weapon was made for your family by an expert not only in weaponry but also in the occult.”

“That's as may be, but you're not listening to me. The pistol is so badly seized that...”

“It is not I who is not listening,” Castiel interrupts as, without any warning, he grabs my wrist and, with a light touch to the tip of my thumb, causes a pool of blood to form from a small wound that I can't even feel. He then, as Ethan stiffens next to me, holds my hand out over the pistol and, feeling too stunned to so much as comment let alone react, we all watch in silence as my blood drips down onto the engraved silver handle. Instead of simply smearing over it as I would have expected it to, the blood glides down the engravings, highlighting them in brilliant red and without once deviating from their thin lines, until, as if predestined, ending at the last point of the pentagram. Then, as Castiel releases my wrist and the tiny prick in my thumb heals itself, the pistol makes a soft clicking sound and I know without even having to try the trigger that it's now in a fireable condition, that, somehow, don't ask me how, my blood has managed to fix it.

“Maybe it's because I've known this hunk of antique junk for longer,” Ethan murmurs just a tad breathlessly as, with the exception of Castiel, who looks unmoved, and Dean, who has the look of a man who has seen it all before, we all gaze down at the weapon as though transfixed, “but, seriously, that's almost even more impressive than the wings were...”

“I know,” I mutter, peering down at the pistol and shrugging. “Who'd have thought, huh, that all the damn thing needed was to be bled on. I mean... I don't know why we didn't think of it sooner.”

“You didn't think of it because you didn't know what you had,” Dean retorts, clapping me heavily on the back. “Now that you do though, we're good to go, right?”

“What do you mean... we're good to go?” I query, looking up from the pistol and giving Dean a suspicious look. “Just because the pistol now appears to be in working order doesn't mean that...”

“It does, actually,” Dean declares, cutting me off as he gestures down at the pistol. “Look, Witch Hunter, it ain't rocket science. The second you see that witch bitch, Agnes, you shoot her with that, and, game over.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.”

“But...”

“Uh! No buts. If you're capable of pulling a trigger you're capable of successfully killing or... uh... re-killing the bitch. Just... Don't over think it.”

“But...”

“What part of... don't over think it... are you struggling with?”

“Knowing how his brain works,” Ethan offers helpfully, “my vote would be for... all of it.”

“Just because I don't want to... jump... without knowing all the details first,” I complain, scowling at Ethan as Dean begins to twitch with impatience. “What? It's okay for you,” I add, turning my scowl on to Dean. “While you're obviously mad enough that this makes complete sense to you, it's all new to me and I need to be sure...”

“It's not rocket science!” Dean repeats, the exasperation he's feeling at my reluctance to simply do as I'm told coming through in both his voice and expression. “You shoot Agnes the second you see her and that's it, game over and we're out of your hair.” Pausing, he looks at Sam and rolls his eyes in a way that says 'God give me strength' better than mere words ever could. “Just... Listen up and listen good. We wouldn't be here if we didn't need you to shoot the gun. And, just to make things super clear for you, it... has... to be you. Okay? Got that? You. If it didn't, and trust me on this, I'd like nothing more than to take the pistol off you right now and to get the fuck out of here. But... I can't. Because, joy of joys, it has to be you. Hell, if it helps I don't like having to rely on your... questionable... expertise any more than you do, but, hey, that's life. So... Shut the fuck up, hop on the Cas Express, and... Brace yourself.”

“Hop on the...” 

Blackness. Sudden, instantaneous and incredibly fleeting darkness descends over me, and then...

Then...

“... What the fuck!”

Stumbling against Ethan as I realise we're no longer in the locker room and are now – somehow, and I'll be damned if I can apply any logic to it – standing outside in the eerie light of the full, red moon in what appears to be a cemetery, I shake my head in disbelief and somehow, and yet again I have absolutely no idea how, manage to remain on my feet. “I... What... Uh...”

“Cas Express,” Sam states with an apologetic smile as, looking unfazed by our abrupt change of scenery, he reaches into his coat and pulls out a particularly sharp look dagger. “Sorry. Dean should have mentioned the specific, somewhat out of this world nature of Angel Transport.”

“You... think?” I exclaim as, still feeling a little empty headed and light on my feet, I lean against Ethan for support. “Just... Fine. Whatever. The angel can snap his fingers and...”

“I do not need to snap...”

“Just like that,” I continue, talking all over the top of Castiel as though he'd never even opened his mouth, “we're transported to...” Trailing off, I look around the gloomy cemetery. “Actually... That's a good question. Where are we?”

“I think, although God... or... uh... his local representative knows how, we're in Rock Creek,” Ethan replies, gesturing towards a familiar looking bronze sculpture of figure seated before a block of granite. “See? That's the Adams' family memorial.”

I nod and, feeling as though I've finally regained my bearings, stand up straighter and peer over at the sculpture and the decrepit looking couple who, almost as though they materialised out of nowhere, are now loitering in front of it. “So it is,” I mutter. “Bit late for tourists though, isn't it?”

“They're not tourists,” Dean announces just slightly too cheerfully for my liking as, just like his brother did a moment ago, he pulls a large dagger out from the inside of his jacket. “It's a bit hard to tell from this distance but they could be zombies, or vampires, or even your favourites, witches.”

“Excuse me?” My evening taking yet another turn for the worse, I gaze, dumbfounded, at Dean and wait for him to better explain his not at all satisfactory response.

“Agnes is a Grand Witch. You didn't think she'd be attempting to rise without first marshalling the creepy crawly troops to protect here, did you?”

“I...” Frowning, I take my eyes off the – gazing back at us vacantly – couple just long enough to shoot Dean a glare. “Despite apparently being the guest of honour at this fucked party, I hate to remind you that this is all new to me and...”

“Quick overview then,” Sam interjects as, reaching once more into his jacket, he pulls out a revolver and hands it to Ethan. “Agnes was buried in an unmarked grave on this land before it became a cemetery. As such we don't know where exactly it is she's going to rise from and... just have to stay alive long enough to both find her and for you to do your thing.”

“And... Her bodyguards?”

“As Dean said, they could be zombies or witches or any old creature from the underworld prepared to do her bidding.”

“And... We have to fight them off as we go?”

“Now you're getting the picture!” Dean beams as he clutches his dagger with obvious determination. “Agnes has her minions and, as much as it pains me to admit this, we're effectively yours as our main goal is to ensure you're able to take the bitch out. I can't say I'm in love with the plan, but it is what it is. We fight to protect you, and you do your witch huntery thing to put Agnes back into the ground.”

“Zombies,” Ethan murmurs, shrugging as he gives me a curiously unbothered look. “Given that Benji's forever going on about the damn things, I kind of wish he was here to lend us as hand, don't you?”

“Uh... Benji babbling on about zombies, and Benji... actually meeting a zombie and not fainting, I think, are two entirely separate things,” I reply drily as, finding an odd sense of reassurance in the solid weight of the pistol in my hand, I glance at Dean and shrug my resigned acceptance of the fact this insanity really is happening and that the time has probably come to get a move on. “So... What are we waiting for?”

“For the fun to really start!” he replies with both a grin and forceful punch to my upper arm. “Come on. Just... Be on your toes, take out anything that moves, and... Let's roll!”

Sighing, I give Sam a pitying look. “He enjoys this, doesn't he?”

“There are times when I think far too much,” Sam responds, echoing my sigh as Castiel, who hasn't said anything of note since we... materialised... in the cemetery, turns and begins to head down the path to the right. “Looks like we're going that way.”

“Looks like.” I turn to Ethan and, for no other reason than I literally don't know what else to do, smile. “You ready for this?”

“As I keep telling myself this is nothing more than a different sort of mission,” he mutters, smiling faintly, “I think it's safe to say I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Well...

What else was I going to say? That this is all too fucking ridiculous for words and that, surely, I'll have to wake up at any moment?

It...

It doesn't make any particular sense to me, but...

It's happening, it's really happening, and I just have to give the madness everything that I've got.

With this... devil may care... attitude firmly in place, I set off after Castiel and for the next half an hour or so focus on both Dean's order to take out anything that moves and, basically, just staying alive.

Which, given that Agnes seems to have a never-ending army of creatures to throw at us, is far, far easier said than it's actually done. Zombies, I learn, pack a hell of a punch, vampire have far more teeth than the two fangs the Hollywood stereotype would have us believe, and while, okay, the beams of power the witches are capable of throwing out from their wands mightn't, miraculously, have any effect on me, they can still physically kick my ass from here to Sunday. By the time we've made it to the oldest, creepiest and darkest part of the cemetery and the air is crackling with electricity while the ground vibrates under our feet, I've been kicked, slapped, punched, thrown both through the air and into more tombstones than I can count, choked, and...

Somehow I'm still standing. Sure, I'm bleeding from various cuts and grazes, and I can already feel all of the bruises forming under my clothing, but...

I'm still standing.

And, not only do I still have the pistol clutched in my hand but I also, as the others begin to falter and a circle of creatures whose only goal is to see us dead form around us, finally have my disgusting, skeletal target in sight as she clambers inelegantly out of a large crater in the ground.

Spotting me, the black holes where her eyes should be glow a vivid orangey-red colour and, cocking her shrunken, barely human head to the side, she hisses with more contempt than I've ever heard managed to be put into two words before, “Witch... Hunter...”

Knowing that I have to move, that we're all dead if I continue to just stand here gaping at the revolting sight before me, I shake off my shock, murmur, “Please work,” under my breath and, as it's apparently what I have to do, why, in fact, I'm even here, just...

Point and shoot.

That's all.

I don't even really aim and, just like that, it's all over.

Agnes howls as the bullet rips through her cadaverous chest before, in a truly spectacular fashion, burning up from the inside and dissolving into a fine dust. Her minions, realising that without their leader they have nothing to fight for, disappear into the night as though they'd never even been there, and...

Just like that.

It's over.

Truth be told, after the lead up and the intensity of the fight to get to this point, it's almost something of an anticlimax. We came, we saw, we fought off creatures that, quite frankly, I'm still of the opinion shouldn't even exist, I shot – as you do – a witch through the heart as she was attempting to come back from the dead after three hundred years under ground, and... Yeah. I don't know what else to say, really.

“Well... That was certainly different,” Ethan states, his expression an unfamiliar mixture of dazed and exhausted as, picking himself off the ground, he limps over to join me. “You... You're a real treat to be around on Halloween, are you aware of that?”

“Maybe next time I tell you then that I hate something and want nothing to do with it you'll actually believe me,” I retort, reaching out and plucking what looks like a chunk of decaying flesh off Ethan's shoulder and, with a shudder of disgust, flinging it down onto the grass. “I... Forget it. Words fail me.”

“If it helps,” Ethan mutters, glancing down at the damp, soggy patch on his now decrepit looking flight-suit and wrinkling his nose, “I don't want to know. I... No. You're right. Words fail me too.”

“What's a bit of zombie matter between friends, huh?” Dean declares with that same creepy degree of cheerfulness that he was displaying earlier as, wiping the gunk off his dagger blade onto the arm of his jacket, he wanders over and slaps me far too heartily on the back. “Hey! Way to go, Witch Hunter. You sure did nail that bitch. Not, mind you, that I ever doubted your abilities for a minute.”

“So... All that attitude you were giving me earlier was actually your way of... showing your confidence in me?” I query sarcastically, shifting away from Dean before he can give me another slap because, really, I'm just not feeling at all up to it. I'm tired, I ache all over, I suspect, even though I'm not in any great rush to have this confirmed, I stink, and I'm really just not up to dealing with either Dean's smart-ass mouth or overly-familiar slaps on the back. In fact, maybe I'm just getting old, but all I want to do is lie down, close my eyes, and put all of this madness behind me.

“Mmm... Always knew you could do it, Witch Hunter,” Dean replies, his face lighting up with relief as first Sam, who looks as though he's been pulled through a hedge backwards, and then Castiel, who looks his usual impassive and slightly befuddled self, materialise out of the darkness and make their way over to join us. “Hey Cas, Sammy, did you see it? He really put that Agnes witch back in to the ground.”

“As it is a task to which he was born to,” Castiel, giving Dean the benefit of one of his odd little frowns, “I do not know why you doubted his abilities.”

“Yeah, well... Thanks for that, Mr Angelic Know It All.” Shrugging, Dean slips his dagger back inside his jacket and grins at me. “Think I might just have to put your number on speed dial,” he comments. “I mean... Who knows when your... specific skill set... might come in handy again.”

“What? No!” I shake my head and, because he arguably seems the more sensible of the two, shoot Sam a pleading look. “Tell me this was just a once off, that... having done my thing with Agnes I...”

“Sorry. You're it,” Sam replies, his expression a curious mix of understanding and resignation. “I'm not saying Grand Witches pop up all that frequently, or even if we'll definitely need to call on your services again, but...”

“Forget it.” Not liking what I'm hearing – do this again? Er... No, thank you – I shake my head again. “IMF keep my numbers unlisted and... and I'm not going to give them to you!” Given the apparent ease in which they found me, it's a lame ass threat at best, but I just don't know what else to say. “So... So there!”

Smirking, Dean gives me a look that can probably be best described as condescending as Ethan, who most likely wishes I'd just shut my mouth before I... really... say something stupid, gives my shoulder a gentle – 'there, there' – pat. “Like we need to ask for your number,” he states, looking over at Castiel. “In case you've forgotten, we've got an angel.”

“Forget? Oh. If only I could. Seriously, Dean, I would if I...”

Deja vu.

Blackness. Sudden, instantaneous and incredibly fleeting darkness descends over me, and then...

Then...

“Fuck!” Spinning around as I note, this time, however with very little actual surprise, that we're back at HQ and are now standing outside the open glass doors that lead into both the cafeteria and the Halloween party that, what feels like a lifetime ago now, I hadn't wanted anything to do with, I spot Castiel and point an accusing finger at him. “A bit of fucking warning would have been nice!”

“As we had done that which we had come to do, there was no reason to remain in the cemetery,” Castiel responds, giving me a confused look that, not for the time, makes me think he's not entirely all there.

“You get used to it,” Sam offers with a half smile. “And, hey, at least it's quick.”

“Dorothy never said there's... no place like work,” Ethan, who's still looking a little on the dazed side, states – as far as I'm concerned anyway – apropos of nothing as he gazes over at Castiel. “Does anyone else here think it would be more... impressive... if he clicked his heels together whenever he did that?”

“Huh?” Not having any idea what Ethan's talking about and hoping that he didn't receive a blow to the head and isn't now suffering from either a concussion or swelling on the brain, I frown and, wanting to ensure he remains upright, link my elbow tightly around his. “I don't get it.”

“It's from The Wizard Of Oz,” he replies, smiling at me as though that... explains everything.

“Oh.”

“You know... Dorothy.” His smile slipping, Ethan follows my lead by frowning and, possibly because he feels he needs to make sure... I... stay on my feet and don't slump, comatose and drooling, on to the floor, tightening his arm around mine. “Jane... The costume she's wearing tonight, it's of Dorothy.”

“I know that,” I sigh, wishing I knew both where this conversation was going and whether there was anything I could do to speed it up.

“So... You know who Dorothy is?”

“I do.”

“But... You've never seen The Wizard Of Oz?”

“Uh... Wiccaphobe, remember?”

“Then how do you know...”

“Thanks to pop culture and the media,” I interrupt, “I know a lot of things that I probably don't need to. In fact...”

“Ding dong, the witch is dead,” Dean interjects, cackling at what he obviously thinks is the funniest thing he's heard all day as Sam groans and Castiel just stares at him blankly. “Surely you of all people have got to know that one.”

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” I mutter, giving Dean a pointed look, “I know a lot of completely useless things. In fact, although it saddens me to admit this, I'd be able to recognise those drab faced creatures from the Twilight franchise even though I'd rather poke pins in my eyes than ever watch the dross. It's just one of those...”

“Vampires do not glitter,” Castiel states, calmly talking over the top of me as, unless I'm mistaken, he looks genuinely pleased with himself at having had something... relevant... to add to the conversation. “Nor do I understand why anyone would ever think that they did.”

“Um... Yeah. Thanks for that, Cas,” Sam murmurs, his expression that of a man who's just far too used to making apologies for his... special... friend. “Look. Will. Ethan. Thanks for all your help, but we should probably just be on our way.”

“Like hell we're leaving,” Dean declares, grabbing his brother's arm and turning him around to face the cafeteria. “Have you seen the party that's going on in there? Have you seen... Whoa...” A truly appreciative leer settling over his face as Mitsuko from Accounts strolls past the doorway in an anime-styled costume that does everything it can to draw attention to her breasts, he lets go of Sam's arm and, as though on autopilot, takes a step towards the door. “Did you see that? Oh God, I'm so there.” Reaching blindly behind him, he snags his fingers into Castiel's trench coat and, as he begins to walk into the cafeteria, tugs the angel after him. “Come on, Cas. It's time to let your wings down and party.” 

“Let my wings down? I do not under...”

“There's a saying about letting your hair down and I just... Uh...” Sighing, Dean glances over his shoulder as Castiel obligingly trails after him and shrugs. “Never mind. Just come with me and I'll show you a good time.”

“But...”

“No buts,” Dean snaps authoritatively as, swivelling back around, he gazes longingly after Mitsuko as she heads towards the temporary bar set up near the back of the cafeteria. “We did what we came here for and now it's time to party. Look, Cas. You're either with me or you're not. Either way, I'm going in with or without you.”

Castiel, although he looks far from enthused at the prospect of having to have anything to do with the admittedly raucous looking party, nonetheless nods his acceptance of Dean's ultimatum and allows himself to be led into the cafeteria without further comment.

“Well, that's it, I suppose,” I state, watching Dean and Castiel disappear into the costumed crowd before glancing at Sam and shrugging. “I take it you're going to join them?”

“Seeing as I don't particularly want to have to find my own way back to Dallas, which, incidentally was where we were before Castiel arrived to share with us the tale of Agnes' rising,” Sam replies, looking just about as excited by the idea of finishing Halloween off with a bunch of drunken IMF staff members as the angel did, “I don't really think I have much choice.”

“At least there's free beer,” Ethan murmurs, stifling a yawn as, looking close to dead on his feet, he pulls his arm away from mine and goes to slump against the wall. “If you go now you might even be lucky enough to witness Mitsuko rejecting your brother's advances by kicking him in the nuts.”

“She's a black belt in more martial arts than I can remember the names of,” I offer by way of explanation as, liking Ethan's idea of leaning against something solid in order to remain upright, I wander over to join him by the wall. “That, and as she recently had a nasty breakup with her boyfriend of five years, she's not feeling a great deal of affection for the male of the species at the moment. So... Ethan's right. It's probably not looking all that good for Dean's chances.”

“In that case I'd better get in there now before I miss the show,” Sam responds, laughing as he starts to move towards the cafeteria. “Oh, and by the way, what Dean said about... having an angel... is actually true,” he adds, pausing by the door and, his expression serious, looking over at me. “If you ever need help, or even just want to know more about just what the hell happened tonight, just pray to Castiel and we'll be in touch. Whether you like it or not, you're one of us now.”

“I'd ask what he meant by that,” I whisper to Ethan, hiding my disinterest before a bland – 'see you around' – smile as Sam, with a small wave, walks slowly into the party, “but I'm actually too tired to care.”

“All I heard was... If in need, dial an angel,” Ethan replies with another, far broader this time, yawn. “There may well have been more to it than that, but I think that was pretty much the gist of it.”

“Dial-an-angel, huh?” Proving the old theory that yawning really is contagious, I yawn myself and, as is becoming a habit, lean my side up against Ethan. “You make it sound like one of those late night infomercials.”

“Mmm... Now, there's a thought for you. Castiel... on your television set and trying to sell you a service.” 

“It might be a thought, but it's not one I have to say I needed.” Noticing that I'm still clutching the pistol in my hand, I hold it out in front of me and, as we both look down at it, shake my head. “Well... If we want to take something positive out of this evening's... activities, at least we've been able to prove that this thing is actually fireable.”

“And all it took was for you to bleed into it,” Ethan mutters. “Who'd have thought, huh?”

“No comment.” Yawning again, I shove the pistol into my belt and pull the coat over it. “Just... No comment. It happened, and... Yeah. I don't know what else to really say.”

“You know... I've just got to say that you took it all surprisingly well.”

“Well?”

“Yeah. Well.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, it... was... all very out there.”

“Out there?” Raising my eyebrow, I give Ethan a cool look. “That's... all... you've got to say about... witches and vampires and... God knows what else was out there kicking our asses in the cemetery? Oh! And let's not forget it Mr Excitement, the angel. It... Out there? Seriously? That's all you've got?”

“Yeah, well, you're not the only one too tired to care,” Ethan retorts, stifling yet another yawn as he tilts his head back and gazes up at the ceiling. “This little outburst aside though, you took it all quite well, far better, in fact, than I would have expected you to.”

“Well, when it was explained to me terms of being my... destiny,” I murmur drily, “how else was I supposed to take it, huh?”

“When you put it that way...”

“I do.” And the reason I put it that way is because, if I don't, I'll probably make the mistake of trying to over think things logically and, although I could be wrong, I kind of think Halloween has already sucked enough without ending it in a padded cell somewhere. “Speaking of taking it well,” I continue, changing tack slightly, “what about you? You didn't exactly seem to have any problems with just going with the flow.”

Straightening up a little as he lowers his head to look over at me, Ethan shrugs and finds the energy from somewhere to flash me a grin. “Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

“Don't tell me you've forgotten just who it is you're talking to here?”

Maybe I'm just too tired, but I'm not following Ethan's line of thinking here and stare at him blankly. “Huh?”

“Think back to our first mission.”

“Uh... Yeah?”

“In Moscow there was... the flare on the body. In Dubai there was... trusting in Benji's untested tech and clambering up the world's tallest building without a harness, and then, just for the cherry on top, there was the BMW and the vertical drop in Mumbai,” Ethan replies as his grin brightens even further and he very gently digs his elbow into my side. “Are you... getting it yet?”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim, laughing as I widen my eyes in feigned surprise at my own obvious stupidity. “How could I be so dumb as to forget you're clearly insane!” I add, pushing away from the wall and draping my arms over Ethan's shoulders. “I get it now, I really do, and want to offer my thanks to you for spelling it out so clearly to me.”

“What can I say, a mission's a mission,” Ethan murmurs, resting his hands on my hips as he leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Arms dealer, warlord... witch. If you think about it, there's really little difference all things considered.”

“Oh, definitely. I don't know why I didn't think of...”

“There you are!”

The sound of Benji's voice saving me from having to continue, I share a quick – 'here we go again' – look with Ethan before reluctantly stepping back from him and returning to my slumped position against the wall.

“Hey! We've been looking for the pair of you everywhere,” Benji states happily as he bounds up to us. “Just... Where have you been?” Some of his delight at having finally found us dimming as he looks us over and takes in the bedraggled, weary sight we make, he looks at Jane as she wanders up behind him and opens and closes his mouth a few time before just giving up and shrugging.

“Actually... Make that, what the fuck have you been doing?” Jane demands, giving both Ethan and myself a look of sheer astonishment as she comes to a stop next to Benji and shakes her head in disbelief. “I mean... Fuck! Look at the pair of you.”

Jane's Dorothy costume looking a little worse for wear itself, given what looks to be a rather large pizza stain down the front of her dress and the fact that the little stuffed dog in her basket has been replaced by a glowing plastic jack-o-lantern, I contemplate passing comment along the lines of 'the pot calling the kettle black' but in the end decide to just go with the... truth... instead.

“We've been... witch hunting,” I reply, somehow managing to keep a perfectly straight face as Benji continues to gape and Jane settles for simply looking unimpressed. “What? It's true.”

“It is,” Ethan confirms. “We've been out hunting witches.”

“Yeah. Right,” Jane mutters. “And if I click my heels together I'm going to be magically transported to Kansas.”

“No. It really is true,” Ethan replies, glancing over at me and winking. “Shhh... Be vewy, vewy quiet. We're hunting witches,” he adds in a voice that's instantly recognisable as Elmer Fudd and which, proving, I think, that I really am over tired, strikes me as just about the most hilarious thing I've heard for days.

“Shhh... Be vewy, vewy quiet,” I repeat in a far less Elmer Fudd type voice as I'm laughing too much to even try to make it sound realistic. “It... It's witch season.” Giving in to full blown laughter, I reach out blindly and curl my fingers around Ethan's arm. “Oh God... Don't... As I think I may have cracked a rib out there, don't make me laugh.”

“Only one?” Ethan replies wryly as he too chokes back laughter. “You got out of it better than me, then.”

“Yeah, but...” Taking a deep breath, I force my battered body to stand up straighter and, once I've finally got my laughter under control, add, “This generation's chosen one, remember? I'm just... special.”

“Special is one way of putting it,” Jane interjects as, shaking her head, she glances at Benji and frowns. “What do you think? Have they been drinking?”

Shifting somewhat tentatively closer to me, Benji lifts his hand and wafts it near my cheek. “I was kind of wondering if there could be something in the make-up they've used for the... uh... really real looking bruises they've decided for some reason to add to their... uh... look,” he murmurs, leaning in closer and, with a shrug, poking his finger directly into my very bruised cheek and causing a jolt of pain to work its way through my body.

“Hey!” Grabbing Benji's hand, I squeeze it a little too tightly and glare at him. “Do that again and you're not going to like where I beam you up.”

“I... Uh...” Shaking his hand free of my grip, Benji hurriedly steps out of my reach and gazes at me both wide eyed and slightly incredulously. “They're not make-up, are they?”

“No. They're not,” Ethan sighs, “but nor are they anything either of you need to concern yourself about. Just...” Pausing, he casts a resigned look in the direction of the cafeteria and dredges up a weak smile that's as forced as it is faked. “Give us ten or so minutes to clean ourselves up a bit and hopefully find some painkillers and then we'll join you at the party and it will be like... none of this ever happened.” 

“Like hell you will,” Jane scowls, curling her fingers around Benji's wrist and pulling him backwards until he's standing next to her. “Look. I don't know what your problem is, but I've just about had enough of it. Putting up with Will whining about Halloween all afternoon was bad enough, but this...” She gestures at both of us in turn and wrinkles her nose in disgust. “This is something else again. I mean, what's with the ruined costumes and all the bruises, huh? Just... What are you, children?”

“Trust me, it's not as though it was...”

“For one, I hadn't finished, and for two, having had just about enough of hearing your voice for one day, I don't want to hear it,” Jane states, silencing me with an icy glare as Benji gazes at her with a somewhat awestruck expression on his face. “I know, God knows I know, that you didn't want to attend the party, but why, seriously, just... why... did you have to go and do that to the costumes? Maverick here looks as though he survived being ejected from the cockpit only to land face first on the tarmac, and as for you, you look as though you've had your ass handed to you. I...” Stamping her ruby slippered foot petulantly, Jane shakes her head with evident sadness and sighs dejectedly. “I just don't get it. You're both adults. You could have just refused to go to the party without going to this much effort to share your... displeasure... with everyone.”

“But...”

“Forget it,” she declares airily, dismissing Ethan's attempt at offering up an explanation with a narrow-eyed glare before beginning, with Benji in tow, to head back towards the cafeteria. “You've made your point and... You win. The Secretary's already over-sampled the punch and will never know if you put in an appearance or not, so... Just go. You don't want to go to the party and, as the sight of you both is just pissing me off, I don't want you there either. So... Go and sulk somewhere else!”

Having said – and how – her piece, Jane tightens her grip on Benji and, without so much as a farewell or, alternatively, a 'fuck you' tinged glance over her shoulder, drags him back into the party.

“I could be wrong,” I comment as, just in time to catch him stifling another yawn, I look over at Ethan, “but I get the impression that Jane isn't very happy with us.”

“No. Really?” Shrugging, Ethan returns to his slumped position against the wall. “It's sad, but, and I don't know about you, I think I'll survive.”

“It'll be a push, but I'll give it my best shot,” I reply, grimacing as I limp over to stand closer to Ethan. “Actually... If I'd known that all I'd needed to do to get out of the damn party was to piss Jane off I would have done it hours ago.”

“Just keep it in mind for next time,” Ethan responds with another yawn as, frowning, he slowly looks me over. “Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but you look like I feel.”

“Like shit?” I offer, following Ethan's lead and letting my gaze roam over his tired face and filthy flight-suit. “Not that I suppose it helps any, but I can say the same thing about you as... you really do look like I feel and...” Stopping myself from finishing because I realise I simply don't have the energy to keep the banter going any longer, I sigh and trail my fingers gently down the side of Ethan's bruised face. “I don't know about you,” I add faintly as he leans into my touch, “but all I want is to have a bath before collapsing into bed and putting this fucked night behind me. I... I don't even care about running the risk of encountering a bunch of trick or treaters because, I'm telling you, the way I feel now it would take a brave one to get in my way.”

Smiling softly, Ethan reaches up and takes my hand in his. “A bath, followed by bed. You took the words right out of my mouth,” he murmurs, entwining his fingers around mine as, pushing away from the wall, he glances towards the door that will take us out into the parking lot. “Here's a suggestion for you though... Instead of going to either my place or yours, how about we go to the Palomar and get ourselves one of their rooms with the double soaking tub? How does that sound to you?”

“Like the best idea I've heard all day,” I reply, making no attempt to disguise my enthusiasm at the prospect of getting to share a bath with Ethan by looking pointedly down at the pockets of his flight-suit. “Seeing, though, that I don't really want to drag my butt all the way back up to the conference room to retrieve either my keys or wallet, please tell me that you planned in advance and already have yours on you...”

“What can I say other than... Once a boy scout, always a boy scout,” Ethan responds with a grin as he uses his free hand to pat his pocket. “Come on, Witch Hunter, let's get out here before Jane changes her mind and stomps back out here to get us.”

“Witch Hunter...” It's as unexpected as it is strange, but for some reason it just sounds... better... somehow when Ethan says it. “You know,” I murmur as, hand in hand, we slowly make our way towards the door, “I still think it's completely insane and all of that, of course I do, but... I don't hate hearing it when you say it.”

“That's good, because, whether you really want to hear this or not, I quite like the thought of being the lover of... this generation's... witch hunter,” he replies, smiling at me far more softly than teasingly. “It has a nice ring about it, don't you think?”

“It'd have a nicer ring about it if... said... witch hunter actually felt up to doing any of that... loving,” I mutter, giving Ethan a mournful look. “Sorry. I would, if only I... could, but... Right now I think I'm just too tired for even the spirit to be willing.”

His smile not dimming in the slightest at my – very, very regretful – knock-back, Ethan uses his foot to shove the door open and gestures me through it. “There's always the morning,” he states matter-of-factly as, the could night air doing nothing to revive us, we trudge across the parking lot to his Mercedes. “Bath. Bed. Sleep. Inevitable, hopeful discussion upon waking that all of this was just a bad, twisted dream. Then...”

“Then you finally get to experience just what it is a witch hunter has to offer,” I finish lightly as, tightening my hand around his, the light at the end of the – dark, Halloween, witch, angel, and general lunacy themed – tunnel begins to seem brighter by the second. “You know, I like the way you think.”

“That's what I was hoping you'd say.” Still smiling, Ethan retrieves his keys from his pocket and uses the remote to unlock his car. “At the risk of setting you off here,” he whispers, letting go of my hand only to draw me to him for a warm, enveloping embrace, “I just want to say... Happy Halloween, Will. It might have been strange, make that... very... strange, but, solely because I got to spend it by your side, there's actually not a thing I'd change about any it.”

“Maybe not,” I murmur, hugging him back as, reassuringly, it dawns on me that, basically, nothing else has to matter. Not destiny, or the fact that witches and vampires and God only knows what else really do exist, as...

This is what matters.

Ethan. 

Acceptance. Comfort. Understanding. Contentment.

Normalcy.

Love.

“In fact, you're right. It's certainly been... interesting... and I'm glad that I got to spend it with you,” I continue, relaxing against Ethan and sneaking in a kiss on his lips. “So... While I never thought I'd get to say this to anyone and actually mean it... Happy Halloween, Ethan. May it be the first... or second, as the case may actually be, of many more we get to spend together.”

~ end ~


End file.
